


Wildling Lover

by vivilove



Series: Wildling Lover [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Between a minor character and unnamed female, Canon-Typical Violence, Character ages changed, Dubious Consent, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jon is a wildling, Loss of Virginity, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Warging, attemped rape by coercion, some salty teens, some violence, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-19 01:45:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 76,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Lady Sansa Stark met her handsome Wildling by chance many moons ago.  During their last encounter, Jon pledged to find a way for them to be together but there are so many obstacles for a forbidden love like theirs.  And a threat looms on the horizon that could take Sansa far South and out of Jon's grasp.  He could steal her but what might that mean for his people when Lord Stark finds out?





	1. Distant Rumblings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittykatknits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/gifts).



> This will be a multi-chapter fic for my Wildling Lover series.
> 
> Character ages have been changed to make Jon closer in age to Sansa. Robb 18, Jon 16, Sansa 15.

Fifteen name days she had known. She was a woman grown, reputed as a great beauty and a lovely maid. She was called Winterfell’s Daughter and the Northern Rose.

Sansa heard many flowery expressions regarding her looks whenever any of her lord father’s bannermen came to visit. She had difficulty believing any of them.

There were a few besotted young men amongst the eager suitors for her hand but Sansa couldn’t trust they’d act the same if she were just a village girl with a pretty face. They may have longed to tumble her but they would not marry her.

_It is my name they wish to marry. It is Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, they wish to call their kin. And heirs…they will wish for me to give them heirs._

Certainly, they might utter all sorts of flattering words but there was only one man from whose lips she wished to hear sweet endearments…her Wildling…her Jon.

The memory of his deep, gruff voice speaking softly to her made her shiver.  _"Sweet Sansa, my beautiful lady,"_ he had called her. She could still remember the way his dark hair fell in soft curls around his face when it was not tied back with twine. She often thought of his dark eyes that could appear fierce one instant and then gentle and loving in the next. She spent many nights trying to recall the secure yet excited way his arms wrapped around her had made her feel. His hot and eager kisses haunted her then. She’d feel flushed and restless on those nights. She would sometimes touch herself those nights. She’d blush with shame for doing such a wicked thing and yet she continued to do so.

Her brother Robb was the heir of Winterfell with a responsibility to continue their house as well as rule as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North in their father’s place someday. There was talk of possible betrothals for him; some with other houses of the North and some with Southron houses that might make for useful alliances. But there was no pressure being applied to him. He was only eight and ten. He could take his time to make an advantageous match. He would even have the leisure more than likely of marrying the girl that suited him best of all the ones being offered.

Sansa was three years younger but the pressure of a betrothal if not an immediate marriage was much more keenly felt. And she wondered if the right lord were to ask for her hand if her opinion in the matter would be considered at all.

“It’s not fair,” she whined to Robb as they rode together in the Wolfswood one afternoon. She was not much of a rider but she liked the idea of getting away from the keep and Septa Mordane for a time and Robb had suggested it. “Why am I getting all these suitors shoved in my face while no one pesters you?”

“No one pesters me?” he scoffed. “Did you not see Lord Manderly literally dragging his granddaughter over by the hand last night during the dancing? Poor girl stood staring at my boots for a solid three minutes before she answered my ‘how-do-you-do?’”

“At least she’s close to you in age. No one’s asking you to marry someone thrice your age.”

Robb ran a hand through his dark reddish-brown curls and laughed. “I don’t believe Father would ever consent to that match. He’s just being polite to listen to the offer. And, I’m not saying you don’t have it worse than me, Sansa.”

Sansa did not reply for she was staring at the underbrush beneath the tall Sentinel trees that surrounded them. She could’ve sworn she saw a flash of white.  She squinted and peered more closely. 

 _White fur, red eyes. White and red…like a Weirwood_.

Robb seemed to have noticed what had captured her attention. “What was that? It almost looked like a wolf but it was far too large.”

“It’s likely nothing,” she said dismissively in response to his query.

But it was. Sansa was almost certain she’d seen Ghost, Jon’s direwolf friend.

Her brother kept staring at the spot where she’d seen him. “Robb…” she said sweetly. “I’m feeling tired. May we return to the keep?”

“Of course,” he agreed after one last look and they turned their horses towards home.

If it was Ghost, she wouldn’t want any attention brought to him. Some of the men might get it in their heads to go on a hunt.

 _Ghost_. She smiled to remember the day she’d met Jon and his companion near Last Hearth. A direwolf couldn’t climb the Wall like a man but she wondered why Ghost had remained so close to Winterfell when Jon trekked back North to return to the lands beyond the Wall.

_Did he leave him here on purpose? Or does this mean he’s returned?_

Hope filled her heart at the thoughts he might be near.

 

* * *

 

 

_Tall trees that leaked sticky sap. They had bristly, almost thorny kinds of leaves that scratched his snout._

_But there were other trees. Some with delicate green leaves that smelled nice._

_And there were rotting leaves on the forest floor._

_Squirrels and rabbits. Their blood ran hot and tasted coppery._

_Dirt and mud._

_Piss._

_The smells filled his nostrils._

_A squirrel would be good but they climbed the trees and chittered mockingly at him. Slather ran from his jaws._

_A rabbit would be better...and easier to catch. Perhaps he might find another deer. His belly grumbled and ached._

_New smells and sounds._

_His ears perked up._

_Horses. Man talk._

_He edged towards the noise, ears turned forwards to catch the sounds._

_A woman…the girl that smelled sweet and flowery and had soft hands._

Sansa _, a voice whispered somewhere._

_Ghost shook his great head and looked at her again._

_Red hair and white skin…like the trees that had faces._

_Ghost licked his chops and moved closer. Silent as a shadow._

_“What was that? It almost looked like a wolf but it was far too large,” the man with her said._

_“It’s likely nothing,” she said._

_But the man watched and Ghost backed away._

_Careful. Men would hunt you._

Look back at her again _, the voice whispered._

_But Ghost did not. There was a rabbit nearby he could catch._

 

~~~

 

Jon threw down his knife in frustration as his eyes saw the flames of the cook fire again instead of her red hair. He tried again but the connection was lost now. He closed his eyes and sighed while he thought on what he’d seen.

The man had been her brother Jon thought. He hoped he was right. The thoughts of her going riding with any man who was not her kin or a guard made him ill with jealousy. He’d seen Robb Stark once at the feast for King Robert but he’d not paid too much attention to Lord Stark’s heir. He’d been too captivated by Sansa.

All this time, he’d been hoping for a chance to see Sansa through Ghost. He knew it unlikely. He didn’t know how often young ladies went riding in the woods and the chances of Ghost meeting with her unexpectedly were low.

But, just like their first encounter, it appeared that he was fated to see Sansa this day.

Unfortunately, it only made him want to see more of her.

He picked up his knife again and began skinning the hare Ygritte had brought him. He could hear Mance and Tormund arguing from inside Mance’s tent.

“Fucking Thenns, Mance?!” Tormund boomed. “Those cunts will never be like us. What’s next? Are you going to break bread with the bloody Crows?”

“You will go and meet with them on my behalf, Tormund. We must all unite against the coming storm,” Mance said more quietly though Jon’s keen ear caught the words.

Jon almost considered slipping closer but he’d best finish skinning the hare first. Mance would want his supper and Jon had been told to prepare it. _Like a bloody servant_.

A few moments later, Mance came out of the tent and sat down beside him on his log. Jon kept to his quiet brooding. He’d been angry with Mance since he’d refused to let him go on the most recent raid with Tormund.

“How long must a man wait for his supper, lad?” Mance asked. His tone was light and teasing. He knew Jon was mad but it didn’t stop him from occasionally poking him to get a reaction.

“It’ll be ready soon enough,” Jon muttered as he spitted the hare and placed it over the fire.

Mance put a loving hand on his shoulder and Jon ceased his scowling. He’d taken Jon in a raid when he was four. He was not his father but he’d treated Jon like a son. He was a gruff man but he’d been good to him. It would be ill of Jon to continue acting like a sulky boy.

“What is it that eats at you, Jon?” Mance asked kindly.

Jon kept staring at the fire, watching the hare roast. He waited until it was time to turn it before he spoke. It took him that long to master his emotions.

“Six moons I’ve been back and you still won’t tell me anything about why it was important to go to Winterfell,” he said. “I’m six and ten now. When will you stop treating me like a boy?”

“When you stop acting like one perhaps,” Mance answered with a laugh. “I told you once not to wander past Last Hearth. I told Tormund to not let you go either.”

“I wasn’t even four and ten then. I told myself you didn’t mean I shouldn’t ever. Tormund thought the same.”

“We tell ourselves all kinds of things, Jon…but we shouldn’t believe our own lies.”

“Why am I not supposed to go any further than Last Hearth then?”

“I’ll tell you… _if_ you tell me why you’re so keen to go back,” he responded.

“Because I…” Jon dropped his eyes and muttered, “It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

“There’s a girl there somewhere, ain’t there, boy?” Mance said, slapping Jon on the back. Jon jumped as though he’d been caught at something and Mance laughed. He opened his mouth to deny it but Mance spoke first. “Don’t lie to me now. I know enough of you and young men in general to know I’m right.”

“Aye, there’s a girl, alright?” he begrudgingly admitted.

“Is that why Ygritte’s been so cross since your return? You’re no longer willing to share her skins at night, is it?”

“I didn’t share her skins before…not really,” Jon grumbled.

“Ah…poor lass. I suppose this lovely hare was another attempt to win you,” he laughed. “She’s been so eager for you to steal her all this time and you never did once, eh? Well, the heart wants what it wants. And what it don’t want, it don’t and there’s nothing the head can do to convince it otherwise.”

Jon felt his cheeks grow hot. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Mance. Ygritte had been difficult to keep at arm’s length since his return. He’d not shared her skins at night before but they’d done other things…back before he’d met Sansa. Ygritte wanted him and at one time he might’ve wanted her too but he’d not been ready to take her for a wife back then and he wouldn’t steal her and possibly father children on her until he was. Some of the men laughed at him for it but Mance never had.

He started to rise and leave but Mance laid a hand on his arm. “No, you don’t. My supper’s not done yet. Sit there and tell me of the girl that’s caught your eye down south while he finishes roasting.”

Jon rolled his eyes and checked the hare again. “She has red hair and blue eyes.” Mance’s eyes widened and he grinned as he glanced over at Ygritte. “Yes, I know but she’s…well, she’s not like Ygritte. She’s softer than her but strong, too. She talks to me differently than anyone here does. I like the way she talks, soft and sweet sometimes,” he said quietly as he dropped his head. “But she’s not always soft and sweet. She’s got a bit of a temper. I liked it,” he added with a smirk as his cheeks grew hot yet again. “She’s pretty.” Mance gave him a look to keep going. “Alright…she’s more than pretty. She’s beautiful…radiant. Ghost and I came upon her in the woods near Umber’s keep.”

“She can’t be one of Umber’s women if she’s as beautiful as you say,” Mance said with a grin.

“She’s not,” Jon chuckled as he pulled the hare off the fire finally and split it with Mance.

It burned his fingers when he picked it up so he sat it down on his knee to cool. Mance tore into his half and didn’t even seem to care about the hot grease dripping down his chin.

“So, a servant or village girl then? A farmer’s daughter? You coulda stole her, Jon. Ygritte mightn’t like it but I wouldn’t have objected.”

“She’s not a servant or village girl or a farmer’s daughter though.” Jon looked around to make sure no one else was too near and whispered, “She’s highborn.”

Mance’s sharp eyes narrowed and stared at him. That same guilty feeling rose in Jon like anytime he had ever asked Mance about where he was from and why he was taken as a boy. That feeling that he wasn’t being true to his people just because he had questions of his own or thought differently than many of them did.

Mance tore several chunks from his hare to chew and swallow before he spoke again. “Highborn? Some lord’s daughter?”

“Aye.”

“Not from Winterfell though?”

“Aye, she is. She’s Lord Stark’s daughter.” Mance frowned and Jon ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t need to tell me how foolish it is. I already know…but I still can’t forget about her.”

“Did you…” Mance gestured towards his cock.

“No!  I kissed her is all…more than once though.” He shrugged and said, “I had met her in the woods near Umber’s and I wanted to see her again. It’s why I volunteered to be your spy in Winterfell. I’m sorry. Anyway…I followed her when she went to her chambers that night and…” he trailed off, wondering why he hadn’t received a blow yet. “I hit the crown prince over the back of a head with a large bowl when he tried to come to her chambers and steal her.” He dared to look at Mance. The man’s eyebrows had nearly merged with his hairline in his shock. “He wasn’t…she didn’t want to be stolen, alright? He meant to rape her and I couldn’t let that happen. Anyway, it was why we had to leave Winterfell in haste.”

He had expected Mance to be furious with him. He looked frightened instead.

“Jon, listen to me. You need to stay away from this girl. You can’t have her. It’s not meant to be.” There was something in Mance’s tone that sparked Jon’s rebellious side. Mance saw his look and continued, “Lord Stark could take your head for coming onto his lands. Stealing his maiden daughter? There’s no telling what a wolf might do. He could call his banners, thousands of fighting men better armed than our people. Do you think the Lord Commander of the Watch would say no if the Warden of the North demanded to pass through the Wall with a great host and hunt us all like animals? Haven’t our people bled enough?”

Jon’s chin sank to his chest in defeat. He was supposed to be coming up with a plan, a way for them to be together. Instead, he sat by the fire warging into Ghost hoping for glances of her and remaining where Mance told him.

_Like a boy. You are just a boy. If you’re not willing to defy Mance for her, you’re just a boy and you don’t deserve her love. What of the Free Folk though? Would you risk all their lives for what you want? For a girl that’s likely better off without you?_

It had seemed simple when she’d told him to find a way. He’d made a promise in his heart that he would. But once he’d returned to his people and the only life he knew, it wasn’t so simple.

He didn’t want to bring her here to this desolate land. He didn’t want to see her fine hands turn rough, dirty and callused like his. He didn’t want her silks and velvets to be cut up for bindings and such and her clad in naught but skins and furs like him. Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind seeing her in skins and furs.

But to never see her in her pretty dresses again…to bring such a lovely, gentle girl to this place where she’d know hunger, unforgiving weather and dangers she could not imagine...the creeping darkness that followed his people when the cold winds blew.

She’d be looked down upon and hated by many. Ygritte and some of the other Spear Wives would consider her useless. She was so different than them though Jon believed there was a toughness, a sort of strength and courage to her that they would never understand. They’d wish to make her life unbearable though…assuming one of them didn’t just kill her.

And, other men might decide she was too fine for Jon and try and steal her from him. He’d fight to the death for Sansa but he wouldn’t last forever against them all.

Mance was watching him closely so Jon decided to change the topic.

“Why am I not to go past Last Hearth? You took me in a raid on Wull lands Tormund told me once. Are they my kin?”

“The Wull’s are not your kin,” Mance said.

“Then why?”

“I just think you’d be best to avoid the Mountain Clans.  To stay closer to the Wall or the Gift…closer to us. You were born in the south, Jon. I fear the further south you go…you’ll never return to us.”

“And that’s your whole reason? You’re telling me this is the reason I’m not to go past Last Hearth? You’re telling yourself that, too?” Mance didn’t answer. “We shouldn’t believe our own lies, Mance,” Jon said and he stood. “Here, you can have my half of the hare. I’m no longer hungry.”

He tromped off to his bedding and found that Ygritte had unrolled her skins next to his.

“Why are you so grim, Jon Snow?” she asked.

He hated when she called him Jon Snow. He’d been told he was some kneeler’s bastard but beyond the Wall no one cared about that really and he didn’t like being called a Snow. It only reminded him how they all saw him as different when he’d only ever wanted to belong.

He didn’t answer Ygritte but crawled into his skins wishing Ghost were there to warm him as he shivered involuntarily. Actually, he wished Sansa could be there to warm him but it didn’t do to think on that.

“If you’re cold, I could warm you,” Ygritte said as though she’d read his mind.

 _Aye, you could…but I don’t want your warmth_.

He kept his mouth closed and tried to feign sleep. He heard her huff of indignation and laid there thinking with his eyes shut tight.

A flash of realization struck him before he could fall asleep and his agitation equaled Ygritte’s when it occurred to him that Mance still hadn’t truly answered any of _his_ questions.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ned,” Catelyn said as her husband sat beneath the Weirwood cleaning Ice.

“Where are the children, my lady?” he asked.

He would always ask her that when she found him here. She hated to intrude on his solitude and prayers but this was too urgent to keep waiting.

“There was a raven from Kings Landing.” Ned looked up from his sword and held out his hand. Catelyn pulled the scroll from her sleeve and passed it to him. “I’m sorry, my love. The king is dead.”

He flinched and she knew it struck him like a physical blow. This man that he had loved like a brother since they were both boys under Jon Arryn’s protection. Robert dead, far sooner than any would’ve thought.

“How?” he asked. Tears pricked his eyes but he started reading.

“On a hunt…a boar, they say.”

“Gods be good,” Ned muttered. “Robert always loved to hunt.” She saw his eyes narrow in anger as he kept reading. “King Joffrey summons me to Kings Landing…and Sansa is _invited_ to join me?”

“Yes,” she said. Ned crumpled up the scroll and tossed it down. _That will not do_. “Ned…he is king now. You can’t ignore his summons.”

“Aye, you’re right. I will go and bend the knee to Robert’s son…but our daughter stays here.”

“Ned, she has to go with you.”

“No, she doesn’t. We will speak of this later,” he said suddenly rising from his place beneath the tree.

He held out his arm to escort her back to the keep. She vowed to herself that she would bring it up later. He would need to grieve for his friend now. The rest of it could be discussed later. She’d have to make him see though. They couldn’t defy the king…even if he was a spoiled and cruel boy.

She took his arm and they started walking but before they left the godswood, he turned on her sharply.

“Speak not a word to Sansa, Cat. I swore to her she would never have to marry him and I meant it.”

“Ned…” she started to argue.

Couldn’t he see how this would endanger them all if he refused the king’s invitation and request? It wasn’t truly an invitation though. An invitation implied that there was the option to refuse. Sansa was being summoned to Kings Landing same as her father in truth.

“Not a word.”

“You can’t just…”

“We’re not giving another child of mine away,” he finished harshly before he strode off leaving her behind.

Cat closed her eyes trying to keep the tears from spilling. It was fruitless though. So much anger still though years had passed. She’d had plenty of anger too then but now she’d undo it all if she could. She wished she could go back to that day and do everything differently.

Her lord husband still loved her…but he would never completely forgive her.


	2. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb Stark remembers a lost child. Jon and Tormund's group meet with some Thenns near Craster's Keep. Sansa starts to lose hope and makes plans for the good of her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder...Robb is 18, Jon is 16 and Sansa is 15. And this is Canon Divergent so keep in mind that while some things are the same not everything from canon will apply here.

_“Jon! Come back!” he shouted._

_Across the courtyard and through the keep he raced searching for the familiar mop of inky curls…his brother and best friend. Robb stopped running and drew a deep breath. His legs were tired from the chase. His little brother had fled in tears at his words. Jon was younger but moved so quick when he wanted._

I must make this right. I didn’t mean it, _he said to himself._

_Father would be cross if he heard of this. And Mother…he wasn’t sure what Mother would say. But he knew he had to find Jon and apologize._

_He had just had his sixth name day. They’d overheard the men’s discussion as they hid together in the loft above the stables. They just wanted to avoid lessons a bit longer. Maester Luwin would be displeased but he was kind hearted and might not box their ears if they said they were sorry._

_Jon had been happily playing with his wooden sword in the small loft that was warm and filled with fresh hay. But Robb had been listening to the men below and that word had caught his ear…one he’d heard whispered between Mother and Father in the past._

Bastard.

_This was the first time he’d heard what it meant though._

_“That’s what you are, Jon,” he said with new understanding. “You’re father’s bastard. That’s why my lady mother is not your mother but Father is your father.”_

_He had learned something new. He hadn’t said it to hurt Jon. He never would’ve done that on purpose._

_But Jon had grown sad and ran off. And now Robb had to find him._

~~

Robb woke with a start and felt the familiar ache in his chest at the memory.

“Little brother,” he whispered in the stillness of his chambers.

It had been many moons since he thought of him…the little brother that had been lost to them all. Sansa had been so little and Arya was just a babe at his mother's breast.

Mother had wept and Father had been angry but cold like ice for a time.  Long had the chill lingered between his parents though Robb had been too young to understand it.

 _What happened to him?_ Robb still wondered.

By the time Bran and Rickon were born, it was as though the boy named Jon had never existed at Winterfell.  Mother and Father never spoke of him and the servants all followed their lead.  When Robb forgot and asked, Mother would whisper for him to be quiet, that mentioning him would only hurt Father.  Sansa retained no memory of him. The other three never knew him at all.

 _“Jon is to be fostered further north...with the Wulls,”_ Ser Roderick had told Robb the morning after that day he’d learned what the word bastard meant.

He could not help but feel that it was somehow his fault. His little brother who was his best friend...he’d never made it to the Wulls. Taken by Wildlings and probably killed were the whispers he heard from the stable hands when they didn't know Robb was near.

Robb hated the Wildlings.  If he ever met one, he’d kill him on sight for taking his little brother away.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wake up, little twat. Time to move,” a voice drawled.

Jon felt a hearty kick in the ribs and opened his eyes. His skins and furs were still pulled up around his head but he could see faint light trickling through indicating that dawn had come. He pulled them down enough to see the leering face of Varamyr Sixskins as he stood over him.

“Fuck off,” Jon groused.

Varamyr prepared to kick him again and Jon’s hand reached for his knife.

“Enough of that,” roared Tormund, stomping up to them both.

“Bloody kneeler's bastard.  You’ll never be one of us,” Varamyr spat.

How many times had he said that to Jon? He’d lost count.

“Move on, Varamyr," Tormund warned.  He looked down at Jon and said, “On your feet, lad. Can’t keep the bloody Thenns waiting all day.”

Varamyr moved away after giving Jon one last hateful glance. He’d hated Jon since he was a just a little boy though Jon wasn’t sure why.

_“A kneeler’s bastard. You’ll never be one of us. You’ll betray us in the end. I’m not as blind as Mance.”_

Ygritte had said it was because they were both wargs. Jon wasn’t certain of that though. A rare ability it might be but it was not unheard of amongst their people. Whatever the reason, years of his bile had led Jon to feel the same about him. They would never be friends.  They were more like enemies...but they were still forced to work together.

Jon stood and stretched. Ygritte followed him to a nearby clump of woods where he meant to take a piss. He gave her a baleful look until she finally left so he could do so in peace.

 _One that loathes me on sight and one that follows me everywhere_.

He leaned against a tree while making his puddle and tried to shake off the worry and mounting terror that had been with him as he slept. His dreams had been of Sansa…and they had been uneasy for a change.

Normally, Jon’s dreams of Sansa left him with an aching cock to see to when he woke gasping with need. This morning’s dream had been sad though. Her lovely face drawn in misery and uncertainty and all around her shadows…and foes.

Mance had sent them south to the Haunted Forest to meet with some Thenns who were planning a raid. A few of the elders of the Ice River clans were with them as well.

There was more to it than that. Jon was nearly certain of it but for now he was told to go with Tormund and do as he was told.

 _“A great gathering of the clans will be happening soon. A great host…the largest host the North has ever seen_ ,” Mance had said. _“Do as Tormund says.”_

They arrived in the glade in time to see the Thenns burning three bodies.

“Who were they?” asked Tormund gruffly.

“Crows,” a Thenn said. “Crows that flew to far from their nest. Now they are eyes that will no longer see, ears that will no longer listen and mouths that will no longer speak. Likely stopped at Craster’s first.”

Jon looked briefly at the burning bodies and then the pile of clothes and weapons the Thenns had scavenged from them.

 _Rangers that ranged too far from Castle Black. Black cloaks, good boots…and good steel_.

Jon eyed the pile more closely until one of the Thenns caught him looking. He feigned indifference and turned away.

“I thought you’d be eating them,” Varamyr said grimly.

“No time for eating now,” the Thenn replied. He turned to Tormund. “We’re here to talk…so let’s talk.”

The elders moved off to speak away from the rest and Jon kept watching the flames. He tried to picture her auburn hair but instead he could only smell the burning Crows. He thought of Sansa’s uncle, the Stark that turned Crow. His stomach twisted in disgust and he turned away.

He found a rock to sit upon removed from their party. He looked around to see that Ygritte and the others were occupied before he warged into Ghost.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do you want to go riding with us?” Arya asked suspiciously. “You never used to go riding.”

“The day is fine and I just thought I’d join you,” Sansa replied. _It is not a lie_.

Arya huffed in aggravation but Sansa ignored her. A stable lad helped her mount and Sansa followed the others through the gates.

She’d grown desperate enough to seek him though it would likely serve no purpose.

King Robert was dead. Joffrey had summoned Father to Kings Landing…and her. She wasn’t supposed to know that part but she’d overheard her parents’ argument in the godswood. She’d been seeking the solace she’d found with the old gods since she’d first met Jon. She hadn’t meant to intrude but her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she’d listened to them.

Part of the conversation had made no sense. Father had mentioned not sending another child away. Robb hadn’t been sent away for fostering and, while it wasn’t unheard of for a lord to keep his heir at home, Lord Stark was unusual in that he apparently had no plans to foster Bran or Rickon with another house either.

 _What child was sent away?_ she wondered. _Perhaps I misunderstood_.

A few days had passed but Father was slow in his preparations to journey South. She heard him speaking with Robb the night before about what would be expected of him as Lord of Winterfell in his absence.

“You will be the Stark in Winterfell. It is a heavy burden a leave you with…but one that you were born to carry.” Robb nodded solemnly at Father’s words and Father looked sad. “I never meant to go South again…after the war.”

It would likely be at least a fortnight before he left but she knew he would be leaving before another turn of the moon anyway.

He’d said not a word to her about going but she knew her mother and father had quarreled about it repeatedly since then. Her mother’s concerns were Sansa’s concerns. They could not defy the king.

Today, she would tell him. She would tell him that she wished to accompany him. She would try and convince him that she’d forgiven Joffrey for his past behavior and wanted to be his queen if he still wanted her.

Once she had longed to go South. She’d begged him to take her South. Perhaps he would believe that she still wanted that now.

Father would likely disagree. He would likely tell her no. But in the end, their family’s safety was paramount…even at the cost of her happiness.

 _If the lie is told to protect, it’s not_ _so terrible, is it?_

Over six moons had passed. Jon had not returned. Jon might never return. He might’ve fallen the last time he climbed the Wall. He might’ve been captured by some lord or the Night’s Watch and killed before he even reached it.

_If you should die, how would I even know? Would my heart break into pieces or crack just a little? Or would it go on beating, never knowing of your fate? When would I learn that all hope was lost?_

Perhaps he was living happily beyond the Wall. Perhaps there was some Wildling girl that made him smile and wouldn’t be a burden to him the way she would. A girl he could steal with no lord father to hunt him down.

She didn’t like to think on that. But in truth, she would prefer him be happy with another than dead and gone from this world.

Hope still lingered though. And first, she would try and see Ghost once more. It was a like a little game…except the stakes were so high.

_If I see him, perhaps I am meant to remain in Winterfell. If I don’t, I am meant to go South with Father._

“I believe my horse has caught a stone,” she said to Jory when they’d stopped at the creek in the Wolfswood to allow the horses to drink. Jory slid down off his mount and started to check her horse’s hoof. “No! I’m sure she’ll be fine. Maybe she just needs a rest. I certainly do. I’ll just wait here a bit. I’ll be fine by the water for a little while.”

Jory’s eyes widened in disbelief. “My lady…I cannot leave you here alone.”

“Oh, she’ll be well enough for a bit, Jory!” Arya shouted. “Come on, boys! Race you to the bridge!”

Bran and Rickon shouted and hooted. The three of them charged off on their ponies without a backwards glance despite Jory’s protests.

“You should go after them,” Sansa urged. “I’ll be alright for now.”

“I’ll be back shortly, my lady.” Sansa nodded and found a seat upon a rock.

The babbling of the creek was soothing and the sun warmed her. She felt drowsy. She had never been much of a rider. Two hours they’d been out riding in the Wolfswood and not a single sign of the great white direwolf had she seen. His fur was ideal for the snow…but in summer’s green splendor, he’d stick out like a sore thumb.

 _It is hopeless. I will go South with Father and do what I must for the sake of my family_.

Sansa shivered at the thought of being in Joffrey’s presence again. The thought of lying with him was nearly unbearable. His handsome face, green eyes and blonde hair could not disguise the monster that lurked beneath the surface.

She laid back upon the heated rock, determined to let sleep take her.

_Let me live in dreams for a time. Let me imagine a world where Jon and I could be together without danger or shame. Oh, gods…I wish I could’ve seen him again._

Whether she meant Ghost or Jon, she was not certain. Her mind began to wander in the netherworld of dreams.

_Soft noises, fragrant smells…rich, dark eyes._

_Cold. Colder than here. Snow on the ground…though not so deep. Mountains nearby. A great looming mountain of ice._

_Fire burning and a strange smell. Roasting meat…but not a pleasant sort_.

Crows, _the wind whispers._

_From the shadows he stalks towards her, arms spread wide._

_“Do not fear me,” he says. “I mean you no harm.”_

_“I do not fear you,” she replies. “Am I dreaming?”_

_“Aye…and now you must wake.”_

_“But it is a good dream…I do not wish to wake,” she argues._

_He was close now. He chuckles at her argument. “So stubborn, my sweet Sansa is.” His rough hand strokes her cheek so gently. His eyes were tender and warm. “Wake up, my lady. Wake up.”_

_“Please, Jon. Don’t go. Stay with me.”_

_Red eyes…white fur._

The hot breath and rough tongue on her cheek roused her and Sansa startled awake in fear. The fear was instantly replaced by laughter. Ghost was here, beside her on her rock. He licked her cheek once more and she threw he arms around the great beast’s neck. Her horse was whinnying nervously where she’d been tethered but Ghost paid her no mind.

“Where is he, Ghost?” she asked in delight.

Her eyes sought him out in the underbrush. She could picture him coming out of hiding in his furs with a smile upon his face. His eyes would light up to see her. He would wish to kiss her and she would let him.

She searched and even called out a time or two. But, nothing…Jon did not appear.

“He isn’t here, is he?” she asked Ghost sadly. “Is he ever coming back?”

The direwolf could not answer her but he laid his head in her lap. She stroked his fur contentedly and hummed a sad tune. And as she sat humming, she tried to make her peace with the things that could not be. She tried to harden her heart to what was to come. It was a bitter draught though.

“I will need to go to Kings Landing, Ghost. I don’t want to go but Robert is dead and Joffrey is king. He has sent for me. Father means to refuse him but you cannot refuse a king. My family…I cannot fail them, Ghost. If Father goes to Kings Landing without me, what might Joffrey do?” Sansa sighed unhappily and let the tears spill down her cheeks. “Would Jon understand, do you think? Will he hate me for leaving to marry a man I loathe? I am a kneeler’s daughter. What choice do I have?”

Ghost growled softly and Sansa brushed the tears from her eyes.

“You hate me, too, don’t you? I’m sorry. I wanted to wait for his return…but I don’t even know if he will return.”

Ghost whined and licked her face once more.

 _Perhaps you don’t hate me_ , she thought as the tears continued to fall. _Perhaps Jon won’t either._

Ghost caught each teardrop with his tongue and soon had her giggling despite everything…until Sansa heard the horses.

“Go,” she said with a shove at his great body. “Go!” she said more urgently, reminded of her first encounter with Jon when he’d stubbornly begged for a kiss as Father and his men approached. “Jory will kill you! Please, go!”

But Ghost would not go. He laid down upon the rock and refused to leave her side.

When Jory Cassel came riding up with Arya, Bran and Rickon at his tail, the shock was plain upon his face. He yelled at the children to fall back. The beast could tear out a horse’s throat and rip off an arm in a thrice with those jaws of his.

But to his astonishment, the animal was doing nothing more than lying on a rock.

His lord’s elder daughter, lovely, sweet Sansa, as gentle as a fawn, sat trembling with the monster by her side.

When Jory drew his sword, amazed that she was not already dead, Sansa screamed and shielded the enormous white direwolf with her body whilst beseeching him to not harm her ghost.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon’s eyes returned to normal and he leapt from his rock. The elders were still talking. The others were in groups. One Thenn was putting out the fire where the Crows had been burnt.

The pile of looted goods from the Crows sat unattended. Silent as a shadow cat, Jon slunk towards that pile. _Good steel…good boots_.

“What are you doing, Jon Snow?” Ygritte asked from behind him.

He gave her a friendly smile. “Just thinking about getting some good steel.”

Ygritte smirked. “You thinking of stealing from the Thenns? You’ve got more balls than I reckoned.”

“Perhaps so,” he said.

His heart beat so fast in his chest but he could not let her know what he was thinking. He’d never purposely lied or hid things from Ygritte before but now…she’d kill him if she knew the thoughts racing through his mind.

He had to get away. He had to return to Sansa. But how? How could he get away? And how could he hope to climb the Wall alone? There were those that had done it but Jon never had.

 _“The Wall is a sword east of Castle Black but a snake to the west,”_ Tormund had said once.

 _“And seven hundred feet high either way,”_ Jon had added wryly.

_I’m trapped here. If I leave them, I’ll likely die making that climb alone. If they catch me leaving, they’ll likely kill me._

_“Find a way, Jon,”_ she’d begged. _I will…if I can._

“Har!” boomed Tormund as he returned to them once more. He rubbed his hands together in satisfaction and looked between them both. Varamyr and the others from their group joined them. “Looks like the plans are made.”

“What plans?” asked Ygritte.

“Mance’s plans. The gathering will happen just as he hopes.”

 _I don’t care about the gathering_ , Jon thought…but Tormund was not done.

“And while the gathering is taking place…we’ll be going south once more.”

“What? Again?” huffed Ygritte.

"Aye," Tormund said with a gleam in his eyes.

He should be curious but all Jon could feel was joy.

The Wall still stood between them and time was of the essence. But with the help of the others, he could make it over. And then he would leave them...for her.

Varamyr’s cold eyes turned towards him and Jon was grateful that the warg could not read his mind.

 _You were right. You were right about me the whole time_.


	3. Looking Forward, Looking Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa returns to the castle with Ghost. Jon recalls some memories and is granted an opportunity.

“My lord!” Jory called as he strode into Lord Eddard Stark’s solar.

Ned’s head rose from the mountain of scrolls and accounts that Maester Luwin and Vayon Poole had laid upon the desk. The three of them had been discussing costs and candles, taxes and grain with Robb for the past hour. It was tedious to say the least.

Catelyn stood nearby. Their son would be lord in his absence but his lady wife would be there to guide him if needed as well as the maester and steward.

Jory Cassel looked disheveled from hard riding which should not be surprising with Arya, Bran and Rickon but he knew that Sansa had gone along with them as well. Hard riding was not something Sansa ever did.

“What is it?” he asked, already dreading the reply.

“We were in the wood and Lady Sansa asked to rest…” he began.

“Has something happened to Sansa?” Catelyn asked sharply, sharing his fear.

“She’s…when I returned to her, she was not alone, my lady. Please come and see, my lord. You need to see it with your own eyes.”

Curious, Ned and the others followed Jory from the keep to the hunter’s gate. He saw Ser Roderick, Theon Greyjoy, and Farlen, the kennel master, along with some of the serving girls standing milling around; all with concerned looks on their faces. Then, he found his three youngest children standing beside their sister Sansa as she knelt beside an enormous, white wolf. A direwolf with red eyes.

“Others take you, Jory!” Ned shouted as he raced forward reaching for the sword that was not currently on his person. “Fetch me Ice! Guards!” he barked and the men in the yard came to life. He turned to hiss at Jory again, “You not only left the thing alive but you brought it inside the gates?! You left my children alone with it?!”

“My lord…it was not my decision. Your daughter…”

“Is a girl of five and ten!”

“And is standing right here, Father,” Sansa said tersely.

Ned turned to look at her. She had risen to her full height. And though she looked quite delicate next to the monster, she was tall for a girl. Her Tully blue eyes flashed with a fire he’d never noticed in them before, almost as fiery as her red hair. She had always been soft-spoken with him but now he heard the steel in her voice beneath her lovely face like porcelain. Her mother’s daughter and a daughter of the North both…a Stark.

“I begged Jory to leave this wolf alone and now I beg the same of you, Father.”

“Sansa, move away,” he urged as Theon Greyjoy approached bearing Ice.

“Sansa…listen to your father,” Cat said.

“This is Ghost and he is my friend,” she said calmly though the wolf snarled as Ned took Ice into his hands. “He will not harm me and I do not believe he will harm anyone here so long as he thinks they mean me no harm. Please, Father…lower the sword,” she said and bowed her head.

As though the gods had seen fit to act through him by her words, Ned’s sword arm dropped at her words and Ice touched the ground. The wolf stopped snarling at once.

Curiosity outweighed fear for the moment. “How do you know this beast? Do you mean to keep him for a pet, child? A direwolf is not a dog.”

“Will you promise to leave him be while you allow me to explain?” Sansa asked.

Ned looked from his fair daughter to the other three. His eyes found Bran and he remembered the day he’d beheaded a deserter from the Nights Watch four years ago. He looked to Robb who was equally troubled.

He recalled the five pups welped in the summer snow before their mother died…an antler in her throat.

“ _Please, Father…”_ Bran had begged.

They didn’t belong here south of the Wall he had thought. And the pups would starve to death without their mother. Ned had decided it would be a kinder fate than that.

“ _I’m sorry, Bran_ ,” he had said.

“Please, Father,” Sansa begged now.

Ned nodded to her and said, “I’ll listen to your words before I decide.” She smiled until he said, “Lock that beast in the kennels first.”

 

* * *

 

 

_He and Robb had ridden by Father’s side on his pony most of the morning. He liked riding but he was tired now. The chilly morning and the exercise had sapped his energy. His belly rumbled. Breakfast had passed long ago._

_It was warm by the fire, warmer than he remembered ever being before or since. The fire was roaring in the lord’s solar and many voices were speaking together. The men were talking to Father about many things. Whatever they said, Jon was too young to understand. He just knew that he was safe by Father’s fire. He felt sleepy here. There was something comforting about it._

Winterfell.

_Jon had nodded off. He awoke by the hearth and his tunic and breeches were dirty from lying beside the fireplace. Old Nan would forgive him though, he thought._

_His eyes focused on the boots before him. He looked up to see whose boots they were though he suspected. Father was smiling down at him, telling him to come and have his supper. He quickly jumped to his feet and felt the large hand muss his hair and Jon smiled up at him now._

_“Come, Jon. We mustn’t keep my lady and the others waiting.”_

_“Yes, Father.”_

_He had swung the boy up on his shoulders and Jon shrieked with laughter and joy. Father was often so solemn but he was happy tonight. But, Father had set him back on his feet again right outside the entrance to the hall. He held a finger to his lips to show Jon it was a secret. Why riding on Father’s shoulders was a secret, the boy did not know but he grinned and held his own small finger up to his lips and nodded. Father liked that and mussed his hair once more. He only wished to please Father._

_Jon hid behind Father for as long as he could as they approached the high table. Hullen grinned at him from his place at one of the lower tables. There was no feast tonight. It was just supper…and Jon was glad though he liked sitting with Hullen and the others, too._

_They reached the high table and Jon could no longer hide behind Father. The lady was already seated with the little one in her lap. Jon felt the chill of her eyes on him and he shivered. The lady’s eyes were a pretty blue but they were hard when they looked at him._

_His brother was laughing beside his mother. She wasn’t Jon’s mother though. She never looked at him like she looked at his brother…at Robb._

_The girl in the lady’s lap had just celebrated her third name day. She sat so still though. Jon could never be so still as that…except when he slept._

A perfect little lady. Little Sansa with red hair and blue eyes like Father’s lady. Pretty like her lady mother…but far sweeter.

_She chatted merrily at him when she saw his face. Her mother was not pleased though and Jon moved further away, hoping the little one would be quiet so the lady would forget about him._

_He took his seat at the table, next to the maester tonight. Far enough away so that Father’s lady could ignore his presence._

_A trencher was placed before him and he remembered his rumbling belly. He dug into his stew and crusty bread with relish._

 

~~~~~~

 

Jon rubbed his eyes and awoke to the chirping of birds and the humming of insects. It was warmer here than he remembered. But with only one thin blanket and no jerkin or cloak for his tunic, he shivered in the early dawn. He heard a quiet whinny and was glad to see the horse was still tethered nearby.

The dream had seemed so real but with every waking moment, the memory of it bled away. The faces faded and the names were already gone.

 _It was nothing. Just a dream_.

The Wall loomed out of sight to the north of him. They’d made the climb three days earlier. A successful climb and Jon had been biding him time, waiting for the right opportunity to strike out on his own when the others might not notice.

The opportunity had come along sooner than expected.

Yesterday evening, they’d raided a small village. Well, Jon had not. He had drawn his sword…the good one forged at Castle Black perhaps that he’d fought a Thenn for and won a sennight ago.

He had waited for the fighting to begin with the others. But at the first hut he came across, he ducked inside and threw off his furs. He had swiped a pair of breeches and a tunic that were hanging out to dry, the owner would be forced to fight in nothing but a worn shirt and his small clothes.

He quickly set the hut on fire to add to the confusion. He’d emerged to see the village in complete chaos. Women and children ran every which way screaming and crying. Men were fighting. He saw Ygritte with her bow and arrow, fast at work. Tormund was roaring with a great ax in hand. The Thenns were slaughtering the villagers and already planning to feast on their flesh.

He stood transfixed in the doorway of the hut that was already smoldering. A memory was stirred by it all. He heard the angry shouts of men and the screams of dying horses from when he’d been a boy.

 

~~~~~~~

 

_He’d been crying for days on the back of the sure-footed horse. Mountains loomed ahead and the wall made of ice was not far off._

_The man on the horse had long since given up trying to console the boy. He stank but Jon had to hold tight to him to keep from falling off. He buried his face in the man’s foul-smelling cloak as he wept for there was no other comfort to be had._

_He didn’t understand why the lady had sent him away. Well, he did. He was a bastard and she was not his lady mother. But that had never been reason for him to be sent away before._

_He wondered if Father would come and fetch him back again. He had prayed to the old gods to send Father after him and tell him it was all a mistake. He would muss his hair and carry him on his shoulders perhaps. And Jon would be a good boy and never do anything to vex the lady again. He’d stay far, far away is she preferred and only eat in the kitchens so she wouldn’t have to see him._

_But these were not Father’s men and Jon was afraid. He fell off the back of a horse unexpectedly when the man who had been carrying him was hit with an arrow. It seemed a great distance to the child and he’d screamed as he fell. The horse ran off. The man who’d been carrying him was already dead. Jon squeezed his eyes shut at the sight._

_It was later when the boy opened his eyes again and found fur covered boots in front of him. The shouts and screams had stopped. He looked up, hoping to see Father smiling down at him. But it was another man. It was Mance. Of course, he didn’t know him then._

_“Come along, little lordling. No need to fear Old Mance.”_

_But Jon had been afraid. He’d cried and squirmed and tried to bite the man to get away. Mance had laughed and carried him over his shoulder. Once he had managed to bite Mance hard and he’d received a slap for it. Jon had still fought until Mance had bound his wrists and thrown him across a horse like he was just a sack of grain._

Wildlings. They are wildlings.

_Despite his fear, the gentle sway of the horse as they moved lulled Jon asleep. When he awoke later, the man named Mance was sitting by a cook fire. He heard screams nearby. They were horrible. It was a man’s voice but he shrieked as though he was in greatest pain. Mance gave Jon some bread and a bit of dried meat and seemed unmoved by the man’s screams._

_“Don’t worry about that, lad,” Mance said when the screams reached their crescendo._

_Soon after they ceased, a woman dressed all in furs came to them. At least, Jon thought she was a woman though she was the ugliest and most frightening-looking woman Jon had ever seen. She was squat and round and dressed in skins and bits of armor that looked old and rusted. Her cloak had a dog’s head attached to it. It looked as though all of it were made of dog._

_Jon trembled and looked away._

_“What’d he say?” Mance asked. The woman looked at Jon queerly and whispered in Mance’s ear. “Is that so?” he asked and the woman nodded. “Well, well.” He turned back towards Jon. “Your name is Jon Snow, is it?”_

_Jon stubbornly refused to answer. He didn’t want to speak to an enemy._

_“Ah. A stubborn lad. Shall I have Harma get it out of you?” he asked, indicating to the woman._

_She sneered at him as though nothing would please her more than to make a boy of four scream like the man had. Jon wondered if the man was dead now and that’s why he was no longer screaming. Jon shook his head at Mance and decided stubbornness would not serve him now._

_“I’m Jon Snow,” he answered._

_“A kneeler’s bastard,” the woman said before she spat into the fire._

_“Aye,” said Mance with a smile, “he was once…but now he’s one of us.”_

 

~~~~~~~

 

The fire in the hut had grown and Jon had to move. He could not stand there remembering the past any longer. This might be his best chance.

He spied a horse, hysterical with terror. He’d climbed onto its back and rode away, not daring to look back at the village or his people…who were his people no more.

He road through the woods most of the night but, once the horse had truly started to wear out, he’d stopped. He had no idea how far he’d ridden. He wasn’t used to riding but he had become adept enough at it. He still couldn’t gage distances well that way.

Jon had walked the horse to a creak to drink. He’d tethered the horse to a tree after it had drunk its fill and decided to sleep for a time.

Now, it was day again…and Jon needed to keep moving. He drank from the creek and mounted the horse. He would need to find some food. But mostly, he needed to keep moving.

He thought of Sansa, still far to the south of here in Winterfell. Ghost was with her. He hoped Ghost could keep here safe. The only things Ghost could show him now though were grey stone walls and some sort of gate or fence. He only heard barking, incessant barking.

 _Dogs…they do not like the wolf_.

Jon ignored all of that though. The main thing was to ride…to ride and reach Sansa before it was too late.

 _I am coming. I am coming to you now_.

 

* * *

 

 

She could not tell him everything of course. Father would never understand about the Wildling Youth that she loved named Jon.

So, she told him what she could of Ghost. That she had met him near Umber’s many moons ago. And that she had befriended him. She had shooed him away that afternoon when Father and his men had found her. She said he’d turned up in the woods unexpectedly yesterday.

“Am I supposed to believe a direwolf traveled all that way? To what? To come and visit you, sweet one?”

“I don’t know why he would come all this way, Father. Perhaps the old gods sent him to watch over me before I head south to Joffrey.”

Her father’s face showed his skepticism clearly. However, he was troubled by her talk of going south with him.

“You will not be heading south, love.”

“But Father…Joffrey is king,” she said solemnly. “If you appear in Kings Landing without me…”

“That will be my concern,” her father said, brooking no further argument in the matter. He turned the topic back to Ghost. “Why did you name him Ghost?” Father asked.

“It seemed a good name. He is white and…he is often quiet.”

She was sent off soon after. Maester Luwin was sent to her chambers to make certain she was unharmed. She questioned him all about direwolves and the old man had gladly answered her questions.

“I didn’t know there were still direwolves south of the Wall until I met Ghost,” she said.

“Yes…none have been seen in years and years. Except for the ones your brothers found a few years ago.”

“Oh? I never heard,” she said.

“No, my lady,” Maester Luwin said gently. “I doubt any of them would’ve told you that tale.”

But Sansa had a way of getting her questions answered and when she learned the fate of the five pups she immediately went to the kennels and told Farlen to free Ghost at once.

“Milady, beg pardon but I can’t. Your lord father…” the kennel master argued.

“You will release this wolf at once. My father will kill no more direwolves,” she said terribly upset at the thoughts of the pups in the snow and any harm befalling Ghost.

_He’s not my pet. He is my friend. And no one will harm him. I’ll return him to the woods and frighten him away by myself if I must._

Farlen opened his mouth to argue some more when Sansa heard a voice behind her say, “Do as she says, Farlen. The wolf can be freed.”

She turned to find her father standing there. “And may I keep him here, Father?”

“Aye…for now. But you will be responsible for him. And if he threatens anyone in this castle, he will be put to death. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Father. Ghost will be good,” Sansa agreed at once.

“He is no pup, Sansa. He is a full grown direwolf. He could easily kill a man.”

“He’s good, Father. You’ll see. He’s a good wolf and loyal to his friends,” she said, hoping to convince herself as well as her father. She didn’t know if she could live with herself if the wolf did indeed harm anyone.

She quickly hurried off with Ghost at her heels. For all the rest of the day, Ghost followed her about the castle, whether she was sewing inside with the ladies or walking out to watch Robb and Theon spar.

At supper, Sansa gave Ghost half a chicken and tried to disregard the loud smacking of his jaws as he devoured it. She felt his snout nuzzling her hand soon afterwards and she smiled. She caught her mother’s worried look and decided to excuse herself early.

That night, the direwolf curled up on her hearth rug and a strange fancy took hold of her. She pulled out a brush and began to comb through the thick white fur. She sang a song as she did so. If Ghost minded, he did not show it. He sat through his grooming patiently.

“You are no dog…but perhaps you are willing to humor me for tonight,” she whispered in his large ear. “Father will be leaving soon. I don’t want him to go. And I don’t want to go with him. Do you think Jon will come? Do you think we could run away together and find him ourselves?”

 _Those are childish notions, Sansa. You cannot just run away with naught but a direwolf at your side_.

“Well, I am glad of your company all the same,” she said as she laid upon the heart rug next to the large beast.

She fell asleep to the steady thumping of his heart by the fire. She did not care that her dress would be soiled from the floor. She felt safe…and warm.

 

* * *

 

 

He was cold again tonight but he dared not risk a fire yet. He pulled the horse blanket over his shoulders and shivered.

But when his eyes rolled back in his head to seek Ghost, he saw a fire blazing in a hearth. He saw the paws of the white direwolf that he’d befriended a couple of years earlier in front of him. A lone wolf…missing his pack. And he saw his love, sleeping by the wolf’s side. Her red hair glowing like an ember in the firelight and her soft, pink lips pursed in a smile as she slumbered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this answers a few questions regarding what happened to Jon but not all of course. No, he doesn't clearly remember them except in dreams. He was only 4 when he was taken and has had several experiences since then, but none of those reinforced those early memories of Winterfell.
> 
> Is Ghost the same Ghost? In short, yes. Jon was the one that spotted the direwolves that fateful day but I suppose someone else could've. However, it was Jon's words that stayed Eddard's hand from killing the pups (and Bran loved him for it...*sobbing forever*). It was also Jon that heard the lone, white pup after they'd remounted. So, if Jon was never there, things could've turned out differently...and very sadly. How did Ghost survive on his own? Well, let's take some creative license here and just tell ourselves he survived and was meant to find Jon. Of the six pups, he was the only one whose eyes had already opened after all.
> 
> I hope to have Sansa and Jon reunite in the next chapter! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. A Stark Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn makes plans and Ned prepares to ride south. Ghost urges Sansa to show him the Stark's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to kittykatknits for your help with this chapter :)
> 
> Okay...my edits got screwed up in the last bit of the chapter but I've fixed them now...fingers crossed!

 

“That’s why I believe it would work! An invitation is not binding like a betrothal,” Catelyn argued in their chambers the night before his departure. “If you tell Joffrey she is already  betrothed…”

“But she’s not betrothed to anyone,” Ned said with a shrug.

_Stubborn man. Must I spell it out for you?_

“You’ve received half a dozen ravens asking for her hand over the past two moons, not to mention those that have come here in person.”

“I don’t wish to force her into any match. And Sansa didn’t seem interested in any of those men. Every man I mentioned she…”

“Ned…she’s expected to wed. Perhaps she’s shown some reluctance in the past year but Sansa knows that eventually she must marry. She offered to go with you to Kings Landing because she understands as well as I do what refusing Joffrey could mean.  Do you plan to keep her here with us forever?”

“No, but…”

“Sansa will make someone a wonderful wife and mother. And a betrothal would protect her from the king’s attentions. You could choose one of your loyal bannermen’s sons. Someone that would treat her kindly and grow to love her. Someone she could grow to love in return,” she finished softly.

Ned raked his hand through his hair. She knew he did not like this plan but it was the best chance Catelyn saw of avoiding Joffrey’s wrath and hopefully settling Sansa in a happy marriage…or at least a tolerable one. Ned would just need to avoid sharing exactly when the betrothal had taken place.

_And will he do that? Will it go against his honor to stretch the truth that much?_

“We did not love one another when we wed,” she said next. “But love grew between us in time…despite everything.”

Ned grimaced at those last two words and Catelyn feared she’d said too much. Her heart felt tattered and torn every time the spoke of the boy. Guilt had smote her soul for years over the actions of a few heady hours of rebellion. 

She’d barely known her husband when he’d taken her maidenhead and rode off to fight a war. But the son he’d made with her that night became her entire world. It would be nearly three years before she laid eyes on her husband again.  Robb had been her everything...and the bastard was a threat.

_You hurt me so I hurt you in return...but I never knew how much I would regret it._

“Alright, Cat,” he sighed at last. “Speak with Sansa about this and if…if she is agreeable, select a man and write to me. Moat Cailin or the Twins or…”

“Yes,” she said with an audible sigh of relief. “I will write as soon as we have come to an agreement.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Lord of Winterfell’s preparations had all been made. He was riding for Kings Landing at last to bend the knee to the young king.

He rose from his wife’s arms early that morning and made his way to the godswood to pray.  He would miss home.  He would miss his family.  He did not wish to leave this place again.

A flash of white caught his eye as he approached the Heart tree.

“Ghost,” he whispered. The wolf turned its head towards him with an intelligent look in his red eyes. “You are everywhere it seems…just like the ghosts of the dead.”

It was the talk of the keep and all through Wintertown.  Lady Sansa’s pet that was no pet at all.  He followed her about during the day whether she was in the courtyard or kitchens or riding her horse into Wintertown or simply sewing with the other women and girls. 

But at night, the beast roamed the castle grounds. His white fur making him stand out on even the darkest nights.  He could be spotted pacing along the walls, marking them with his piss, claiming this place as his...as though there were any creatures around that could dare challenge him for it except men.

Farlen complained about him lingering near the kennels, driving his hounds mad. Jory complained about him disturbing the guards at night when he would frighten them to death if he happened upon them unexpectedly. Poole said he had found him near the grainery and watching the chickens.  Gage said he was forever stalking about his kitchens but usually Sansa was by his side then.  The serving women complained of him loitering about as they tended the fires or did the washing.

“The Ghost of Winterfell,” Ned chuckled to himself.

The wolf came over to him and Ned steeled himself to not show fear. He held out a hand, hoping it would not be taken from him. The wolf sniffed his hand and knocked his nose into Ned’s palm. Ned released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and laughed aloud now.

“Red eyes and white fur. You look like a Weirwood, boy. Perhaps you belong here with the old gods.”

The direwolf had no response to give and Ned dared a pat of his head.  Ghost then trotted off further into the godswood.

Ned found his favored spot to sit by the Heart tree and bowed his head.

He began by reciting the names of his dead family.

_Mother, Father, Brandon, Lyanna…and Jon._

Then, he recited the names of the living.

_Catelyn, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon, Benjen…and Jon._

_Jon. Where is he? Does he live or is he long dead?_

It was like a festering wound that would never properly heal, a gaping wound to his heart. The boy he had loved who Catelyn had sent away. Ned knew it had pained her greatly to have him there. But he had never anticipated that she would act. He knew better now to the sorrow of them both.

Catelyn. She was a good wife and mother. The boy had been the only true point of contention between them. But, oh…what misery it had brought. He’d not listened well enough. The pain he’d caused her, the fear she had felt about the bastard in their midst and the threat he represented to her own children.  If only he'd spoken to her and assuaged those fears...

_Promise me, Ned._

He had kept his silence to one and his promise to the other and failed them all because of it.

If she was determined to see Sansa betrothed in order to remove her from Joffrey’s grasp, what choice was there but to agree?  She’d likely do it anyway.  And there was some sense in her plan, he knew.  Better Sansa stayed in the North where he could still have eyes and ears to watch over her in another man's keep.

Sansa. His first-born daughter…a sweet and dutiful girl. She loved her songs and her heart was crafted for love. She was kind and gentle and everything a man could hope for in a bride. Everyone loved Sansa but who would Sansa love? Ned wished he could find a man worthy of his beautiful girl. One that she would love…one that she would wish to marry.

The sky began to turn from pink to gold to blue as he sat. Ned’s thoughts turned to Lyanna, betrothed to a man she did not wish to marry. He prayed that his daughter's fate would not mirror hers.

 _It couldn’t be. The gods could not be so cruel_ , he told himself.

But in his heart, Ned Stark knew better. Just like anything with the gods, their cruelty knew no bounds. That was why they were gods.

 

* * *

 

 

The courtyard was filled with servants and men-at-arms, all there to see Lord Stark and his men off. But the family was given a modicum of privacy for their final farewells.

“Ned,” she said with her heart in her mouth. “Be careful, my love.”

He turned to face his wife and the hard look in his grey eyes softened into smoke. He clasped her to him once more for a hungry though swift kiss.

He said his goodbyes to the children while she stood there willing herself not to cry now…not yet.

He clapped Robb on the shoulder and told him he would do well. He pulled him into a gruff one-armed hug. Robb’s eyes glistened in the sunlight but Catelyn knew her son would not shed any tears here in the yard either.

Sansa’s eyes overflowed with tears though. A maid and still a girl. No one would think less of her for crying over her father’s departure. Especially considering how she worried over the reception he would receive in Kings Landing without her by his side.

And considering the decision she now faced. Which lord would she choose? Sansa had seemed so apathetic towards them all. It was as though her heart was already engaged elsewhere.

Cat did not like to think on that. But it made no matter. Sansa was a Stark but also half Tully. She would do her duty. _Just as I did_. And any passing hedge knight, singer or village boy that had caught her eye would be forgotten in time.

Arya, Bran and Rickon all said their farewells at last and Cat watched her husband mount his horse. A host of men awaited him. The journey would take weeks and she knew they all loathed going.

“Send me word at Moat Cailin or by the Twins or crossroads if you have any news to report,” he said.

She nodded in response.

He turned back at the gate to wave goodbye once more and then he was gone from her view. Off to Kings Landing to swear his fealty to Joffrey without the maiden daughter that had been expressly invited. Catelyn hoped they were doing the right thing.

Sansa would be safer within the walls of Winterfell. And soon enough, she would be safely married to some Northman’s son instead of in Kings Landing with Joffrey.

 _Won’t she?_ Cat wondered.  _Please, let it be so_ , she prayed.

 

* * *

 

 

Down there _._ See what’s down there _, the voice whispers._

_Part growl, part whine. He does not want to go._

Do it _, the voice whispers more urgently._

_“Ghost…what is it?” the gentle girl with hair like flames and that smells of sweet things asks._

_He does not understand all of her words but the voice inside of him does._

_He paws at the entrance._

_“The crypts? Did you wish to pay your respects?” she laughs, a merry sound like the rushing of water over stones or a bird’s song._

_Birds…crunchy little bones, a rush of warm blood. But they fly up, up and up. Hard to catch them._

_Better to chase a bird than go below…down there where the dead rest and the air is dry with rot and time has no meaning._

_The sun never shines beneath the ground._

_It is not his place. It is a Stark place._

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa swung open the heavy ironwood door with a very unladylike grunt. She had visited before…many times. She’d even played here some with her siblings as a child when they’d talked her into it but she’d never ventured here alone. Why would she? It was dark and dirty and went deep into the ground. A childish part of her was frightened by the crypts.

 _I am not alone now_ , she remembered, looking at Ghost by her side.

There were always two torches at the entrance that remained lit. She grabbed one and straightened her back. She held her head high.

_I am a Stark of Winterfell. I am not afraid of my ancestors’ bones._

The door swung shut behind her just as she and Ghost entered and she gulped. It was so very dark and the spiral staircase stretched out in front of her, leading ever downward.

 _An adventure. We will see what we will see together_ , she thought as she patted Ghost’s large head.

She felt a thrill of excitement and did her best to ignore her fear.

The direwolf by her side sniffed the air. He trembled as though he didn’t want to go exploring now.

“You’re the one that seemed keen to go. Are you frightened?” she teased. “Come along now, Ghost,” she said with a confidence she didn’t quite feel.

Down the stair they went until she reached the first landing.

“These are where the most recently departed are buried, Ghost. This is where my bones may lie someday if my lord husband permits me to come home.” Ghost growled softly in response.  "I don't like to think of dying either," she said.

They paced together down the long corridor. Sansa stopped when she reached her Aunt Lyanna’s statue.

For a sister that Father never spoke of, Sansa thought it singular that he should’ve had a statue made in her likeness. Only the former Lords of Winterfell and the older Kings of Winter had that honor before Ned Stark had one made in memory of his departed sister. He’d had one made of the brother he lost as well.

_Lost…killed by the Targaryens._

“My Aunt Lyanna,” Sansa whispered to Ghost as she gazed at the stone likeness of a girl only a bit older than herself when she died.

The direwolf didn’t seem particularly interested but Sansa felt like speaking. It was nicer to speak with Ghost than just the empty air or the ghosts of dead Starks.

“Her story was quite tragic, Ghost. The Mad King’s son, Rhaegar Targaryen, fell in love with the beautiful Lady Lyanna Stark though he was already a married man. Some whispered he was obsessed with a prophecy and believed that my aunt would help him fulfill it.”

Sansa swallowed hard, the bitter bile stewing in her throat at the thoughts of what the Crown Prince had done.

_A selfish beast…just like Joffrey. A young woman’s dreams and wishes hold not a candle to the baser desires of men._

“It was the year of the False Spring. The tourney of Harrenhal…” Sansa trailed off thinking of her aunt being named the Queen of Love and Beauty and all the sorrow that had wrought. “The prince abducted my aunt near the Gods Eye they say and fled South with her. My Uncle Brandon impulsively rode to Kings Landing to call for Rhaegar’s head and was taken captive. My grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark, was summoned by the king to plead for his son’s life. Lord Stark answered his king’s summons in good faith.”

Sansa thought of Joffrey and her father answering his own summons. A chill of apprehension raced through her but she continued her tale.

“But Aerys had other notions and killed them both, father and son. He sent word to Lord Arryn to send him the heads of the two boys he had fostered; my father and Robert Baratheon, who was my aunt's betrothed. Jon Arryn did not do as his king bid. My father rode north to call his banners and Robert went south to call his own. They rebelled and marched to war. But they did not heed the warning of our House words and winter returned.”

Winter had indeed returned that year…unexpectedly and mercilessly. Travel north of the Neck became nearly impossible. Things were not much better to the south.

Ned Stark had ridden to Riverrun to seal an alliance with Hoster Tully and marry the Lady Catelyn. He’d taken his brother’s intended bride for his own. They both understood the meaning of the word duty but hoped that attachment could grow between them in time.

But then when he had left her to rally his men to ride south, the weather turned against them most brutally.

For several moons armies crept from place to place making little progress and even less fighting was done. Men and horses alike starved and froze to death.

And within the Red Keep, the Mad King laughed that the rebellion was no more than a gasp in the face of a tempest. He waited in his keep for the spring when he could send his armies to deal with the usurpers with cruel finality.

And Lady Lyanna was hidden away in Dorne where the snows did not cover the ground so often…and her Dragon Prince lingered with her there.

When the weather broke at last, Ned Stark was already a father though he’d not seen his wife since they were wed. There was no time to see them though. War awaited.

Sansa lit a candle for her aunt and looked her fill of the statues. Further down the corridor they could go. Deeper down into the crypts they could venture. There were direwolf statues down there as well, curled at the feet of their masters.

Ghost had been sniffing amongst the crypts as Sansa stood reflecting but now he had wandered away.

“Ghost?” she called when she realized she was alone. “Ghost!”

Her heart began to pound and the darkness felt as though it was squeezing in around her. Her torch flickered ominously and Sansa was afraid.

“Come back!” she whimpered. “Please…don’t leave me here alone.”

And there he was again by her side. His snout knocked into her hip and she smiled in relief.

“Don’t leave me all alone, Ghost,” she whispered, hugging the beast in her relief.

She looked around again. The direwolf statues and lower levels would wait. They weren’t going anywhere.

“Let’s go to the kitchens and find a bite, alright?” she asked the wolf.

He eagerly followed her back up the winding stair and into the light of day.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon’s eyes returned to normal and he heaved a sigh of relief, glad to see the sunlit trees above him after the crushing darkness. He’d been curious about the crypts but once Ghost and Sansa had gone down there he’d felt overcome with anxiety and a desire to leave Ghost and Sansa there in the dark without him. 

It was not his place. It was a Stark place.

He thought of the other morning when Ghost had encountered Lord Stark in the castle’s godswood. That was a Stark place, too. Why did it speak to him differently? And why did Lord Stark’s gentle smile, a look he’d not witnessed on the man’s face before, why did it stir something within his breast? Something full of love and contentment. Simple feelings from a simpler time.

 _It doesn’t matter now. He has gone South and I am here at last_.

He thought on what he’d seen beneath the castle, deep in the crypts. _It could work well enough. For a short time, it will do_ , he thought as he cast aside his fears in the light of day.

He was filthy and needed to wash.  He didn't want to face Sansa like this.  But with his plans for this night, he doubted washing now would do any good.

The horse he’d stolen leagues ago had been left behind two days past. He had journeyed silently through the Wolfswood on foot. The castle was in sight at long last after nearly a moon had passed since he’d climbed the Wall.

Tonight, he’d climb another wall. A simple matter after his many climbs. And the tunnels could aid him perhaps.

_The Hunter’s Gate…that will be my best option. But I must be mindful of the dogs. Ghost could help me by causing a distraction._

He’d never done that though. Never warged into Ghost while doing anything more than sitting on his arse.

It would be a new moon tonight. Ghost had been giving him invaluable information for weeks now as to how a single man could enter Winterfell unnoticed. Once within the walls of the castle, he would hide in the crypts and urge Ghost to bring Sansa to him.

The direwolf would sometimes grow angry when Jon was in him. He would fight Jon’s commands if he was feeling stubborn. He didn’t like being controlled. But their connection was what it was and the man could control the beast most times, not the other way around.

Jon washed at the stream and then caught a fine fish.  He baked it with a small fire over a flat stone. The smoke was minimal but he feared detection when he was this close and quickly stomped it out as soon as the fish was no longer raw. He would need sustenance to see him through the night and then some rest. He would close his eyes and rest before rising at nightfall to make his final journey back to his love.

 

* * *

 

The morning dawned brightly with birds chirping and the people of Winterfell already busy with their tasks. Sansa had slept later than normal. She broke her fast in her chambers. Her moonblood had come overnight and she was out of sorts. She’d been plagued by strange dreams of wolves howling and Father in the South.

She knew her Mother was waiting for her to join her this morning. They’d said they would look over the prospective men that had offered for her hand again. Sansa would have to choose one eventually…preferable before Father got too far South.

But today, her heart was not in it…not that it had truly been in it at all.

When her maid arrived, Sansa scribbled a note to her mother, a poor excuse about moonblood and a headache, and told her maid to take it to her.

As the maid left, Ghost came to her chambers. He put his head on her knee and waited for his pat. But once she gave it, he started stalking back and forth between her and the door. He’d walk to the door and look over his shoulder at her and then come back to her. She ignored his behavior. She’d just told Mother she was ill and staying abed for a while But Ghost was not easily deterred. His enormous jaws closed delicately on her wrist and he tugged gently at her hand.

“Ghost, stop,” she huffed.

She rose and washed the slather from her hand. Then, Ghost took hold of her skirts with his jaw and tugged again. She yanked at her skirts and his tear managed to rip a hole in them.

“Look what you made me do,” she groused. And still, he stalked between her and the door, always looking back at her with meaning. “Will you leave me be if I follow you, wretched beast?”

He bobbed his head as though he meant to nod at her and Sansa laughed.

“You are spoiled, I believe, and only wish for me to take you to the kitchens for something scrumptious.”

Suddenly, the thought of a lemon cake sprung to mind and Sansa thought that sounded quite good to her achy tummy. Perhaps the cook might’ve made a few…or would make them if she asked sweetly.

“Alright. I’ll follow where you lead but I suspect we’re heading to the kitchens.”

But Ghost did not lead her to the kitchens. He led hear across the courtyard towards the first keep and the entrance to the crypts once more.

“We were just here the other day,” she said uneasily. “I don’t wish to go again so soon.”

Red eyes stared up at her, silent and beseeching. _Why does he want to go here again?_

Sansa looked at the entrance, the heavy ironwood door. She could see where the dust was still unsettled from her visit the other day…or perhaps someone had visited after them. She glanced at the wall on either side of the door where two torches were normally kept. Only one torch was there. The other was missing. Was someone within? Did Ghost know it?

Sansa heaved open the door once again and grabbed the remaining torch.

“I would’ve preferred lemon cakes in the kitchens,” she muttered as she followed the direwolf inside.

But Ghost was eager this time. He would pace ahead and then come back to fetch her. She followed more sedately, wondering at the change in the wolf. They reached the first landing and Ghost went bounding off in the dark towards her grandfather, aunt and uncle’s place. Except it was not so dark down there. There was a lone torch in a sconce along the wall. And under it, slouched against the wall was someone, a man.

Sansa’s heart pounded in excitement even though her rational mind screamed it could not possibly be him.

 _Your heart knows nothing_ , her mind argued.

 _My heart knows all. It is the mind that would fool me now_.

She hastened her steps and saw his head rise from his chest just as Ghost reached him. Her breaths were short and rapid and a whine escaped her lips.

“Jon,” she said in a strangled tone.

He jumped to his feet and walked to over to her. He was filthy and in nothing but a torn shirt and breeches, not his normal furs. His hair was matted with twigs and leaves. His cheek was smudged with dirt.  She did not care.

She stared in wonder as he took the torch from her hand and placed it in the sconce near his own. The knuckles of his hands were raw and bleeding as he grasped her by the waist. She did not care. He was here. Jon had returned to her at last.

She wound her hands through his hair and he pulled her nearer, his dark eyes dancing with the reflected flames from the wall. They stood staring at one another’s faces as though neither could believe that the other were real.

“Sansa,” he murmured finally, right before he crushed her lips with his own and made her heart sing with joy. He was real…and he was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yay! They are reunited at last! But how long can Jon remain hidden in the crypts and what will our star-crossed lovers do next? We'll see...
> 
> Again, Canon Divergences are rampant in this tale and yet many things are similar. Hopefully, the chapter and end notes will answer some of the questions though not all of course. You'll have to await some answers. 
> 
> As for those divergences...first off, Robert's Rebellion was delayed by a twist of fate with the weather turning harshly back to Winter for a time. The opposing armies were in stasis for a time causing the 'war' to last longer even if the actual fighting did not. 
> 
> And, Lyanna did not conceive as quickly in our tale...thus, Jon is younger than Robb but R+L still equals J. 
> 
> And even though Ned and Cat spent the same very short amount of time together before he left her at Riverrun, he knew he had a son for sometime before Jon's birth compounding the bitterness Cat felt over him bringing Jon home. Thus, she acted rashly and sent Jon away when he was a boy while Ned was elsewhere doing his duties as Warden of the North.


	5. Where Will We Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter that is mostly sweetness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated!

A castle was like a small town in some ways, Sansa reflected. Eyes and ears everywhere and nothing stayed a secret indefinitely. How long before the inhabitants of this little community started to question where Lord Stark’s daughter went each night after dinner for an hour or so before bed? How long before they noticed her frequent visits to the crypts that had never before held much fascination for her?

Sansa scurried past her father’s solar where Robb and Mother were speaking with Maester Luwin, hoping none of them would not notice her. They were discussing Father and Joffrey but also the everyday affairs of the castle and the concerns of their small folk and bannermen.

Robb had little time for her these days which was just as well considering the secret she was keeping.

Bran and Rickon were busy with their lessons and their training in the yard every day. Anytime Robb had for his younger siblings was usually devoted to overseeing them. They were the heirs of Winterfell after himself.

Theon helped with the boys and tried to help Robb in his duties as Acting Lord of Winterfell though Robb was resistant to too much aid. He was determined to prove he was born for this role.

Robb, Bran and Rickon…Theon, Jory and Ser Roderick. Men and boys…they were not as much of a worry. They gave little notice to the comings and goings of young ladies.

Mother was busy, too. But she still managed to catch Sansa a couple of times every day to speak, to check on her. There was a questioning look in her mother’s eyes each time they spoke lately. It made Sansa uneasy though she tried to shrug it off.

Septa Mordane often stalked Sansa’s footsteps during the day. Gratefully, the older woman was often ready to put her feet up by the fire at night after supper. But still…Sansa would have to take care.

And, Arya…Arya was noticeably absent much of the time though that was not unusual. She would pop up unexpectedly though. She’d quizzed Sansa the other night about her whereabouts after dinner. Sansa had been vague in her answers. She hadn’t wanted to admit to visiting the crypts lest Arya get it in her head to visit them, too. She didn’t think Arya believed her answers of the sept and the library.

Arya liked Ghost though and the direwolf liked her. When he wasn’t at Sansa’s heels, he could usually be found following her sister. There was no sign of her now though.

“Come, Ghost,” Sansa said as she hurried towards the kitchens.

Her love awaited…and he would be hungry.

 

She was sweating from her efforts when she reached him. He leapt to his feet and smiled at her, his white teeth shining in the gloom only slightly alleviated by the torches. She made no mention of the rusted iron sword he’d obtained from one of her ancestor’s tombs. If a rusted old sword made him feel braver down here, she could not object to that.

She indicated for him to sit again and wearily sat down the basin and satchel. She knelt beside him and told him she wished to see to his hands first. He begrudgingly gave them to her.

Ghost laid down to rest as she dipped the rag she’d carried into the water and rung it out. She started patting his hands. When he winced and quickly drew his hand away, she couldn’t help the light laughter that bubbled forth from her lips. He scowled at her and muttered that she’d merely caught him off guard.

“Be still,” she said. She reached for his hand again and he stubbornly refused to give it to her. “Don’t be such a child,” she gently scolded. She leaned forward and kissed his brow to take any sting away from her words. His brow relaxed into a smile until she added, “I mixed a bit of wine with the water to help it heal faster.”

“Is that why this water is pink? I thought my eyes must be going bad down here in the dark. And wine won’t help it heal,” he protested with a grumpy pout.

Sansa brought the damp cloth back to his knuckles and he winced once more.

“It does, too. It fights infection,” she argued.

She had heard Maester Luwin saying such a thing to Robb once and Jon’s knuckles had been cruelly scraped and beat up from his efforts to scale the outer wall. It was her duty as his lady to take care of him when he was injured, she thought…and then admonished herself for such girlish ideas.

_This isn’t a game, Sansa. He’s not some knight courting you or your lord husband. He’s a Wildling that’s hiding in the crypts to be with you. If anyone discovers him here, his life won’t be worth a groat._

“Aye, it does,” he agreed but then snatched his hand way again. “But that doesn’t mean it will heal any faster for it! And it stings and burns something fierce!”

“Must you argue with me about everything?!” she snapped as he had caused her to spill some of the water from the basin onto her dress. “Be still! Would you prefer I leave you now?”

“No,” he replied with an abashed look. “I’m sorry about your dress…and thank you, my lady,” he added to appease her.

Sansa had not had an easy time getting the basin filled with water down to the crypts by herself along with the satchel where she’d stuffed some bread, an apple, a flask of small beer and bit of mutton. Ghost had not helped much either as he kept circling her, smelling the mutton through the satchel and wanting a bite she suspected.

And trying to do so without being spotted by anyone had been nearly impossible.

It had been terribly trying these past four days; finding excuses to pilfer food and drink from the kitchens, visiting the crypts twice a day and praying she would not be spotted and then worrying over him being discovered when she was not with him.

But she couldn’t be too cross with Jon for not always appreciating the efforts she was making on his behalf. He was the one stuck down here day and night, with little light save the torch she kept refreshing for him and no real comforts at all. Not that he complained but Sansa should not like to change places with him.

She had brought some fresh wrappings for his hands tonight and despite her momentary vexation, she bound his battered hands with loving care. When she finished, she looked up to find him staring at her.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said with a shy smile.

He was so handsome and sweet. He desperately needed to bathe and some fresher clothes but, when he looked at her like that, Sansa’s heart would flutter like a bird’s wings.

However, his shyness evaporated at her nod in response to his words and he leaned forward to kiss her. She knew what he’d be about next and she had to distract him.

She loved his kisses. She longed for them. Jon’s kisses…he used his tongue when he kissed her mouth just as he’d done the night of the feast for King Robert. Sansa still wondered if it was a kind of kissing that Wildlings invented. Perhaps she’d have to pay closer attention to some of the castle’s couples and their kisses. Whatever the case, she liked them. They woke a needfulness in her.

But how long would they remain at just kissing? He’d already done something rather shocking last night. Sansa’s cheeks grew hot from the memory alone.

 _“I just wanted to kiss you somewhere else,”_ he’d said when he’d worked his way down her throat and behind her ear, setting her pulse to racing.

When he’d reached what bit of her chest was not covered by her gown, he’d pulled her into his lap and kissed her neck. They were wet kisses…and hungry. She had liked them and gripped his shoulders. Something hard was nestled against her bottom and she wondered if he had something in his pocket.

His hands had brushed against the front of her dress, along her breasts. An image had flashed in her mind as she arched into his hands and thought of him kissing her _there_. It was perfectly indecent she was certain but the thought would not go away.

Sansa had moaned as his thumbs swept across her again through her clothing. She had felt a tightening in her belly. Something ached and throbbed down low and she felt a wetness between her thighs. She had thought perhaps her moonblood had returned. It hadn’t though, she’d later learned.

And tonight, he’d be stirring her blood again if she let him. But, she knew Mother might stop by to see her and…she was a maid. She wasn’t sure she was ready to stop being a maid.

“You should eat now,” she croaked, breaking free of those full, firm lips of his that made her have all manner of wicked thoughts.

“I’d rather kiss you some more,” he said gruffly.

His eyes flickered to her chest and Sansa raised a hand to her scalding hot cheek. He’d had that thought too it would seem.

He was usually quite blunt. She liked that…but she had to be the sensible one here.

“Eat,” she urged. “We should try and get you a proper bath at some point,” she commented mostly to take her mind of his mouth and her breasts.

He laughed at that and sniffed at both his armpits. Sansa’s mouth fell open in shock at his behavior.

“I suppose I am not smelling so sweet,” he said with a shrug before he settled down to his stolen feast.

It was not truly a feast but he called it one. She wondered what the Wildlings mostly ate…or if he’d ever seen soap.

“Here,” she said, pulling one last thing out of the satchel when he was nearly finished with his meal.

He had wolfed it down much like Ghost might have. Of course, she had to allow for the fact that he was likely hungry.

“What’s that?” he asked with his mouth still full of mutton and bread.

Sansa tried not to roll her eyes at the way he talked with his mouth full and reminded herself that manners were not something that mattered when it came to Jon’s people.

She put the cake on the napkin it had been wrapped in before him with a triumphant smile. He was sure to be delighted, she thought.

“Lemon cake,” she announced. “I begged Gage for an extra one even though he knew I’d had them at dinner.” He stared blankly at her and it took her a moment to realize why. “It’s a dessert…made of lemons and sugar and...” Another blank stare. “It’s a treat. My favorite treat actually.”

“A treat?” he asked, clearly not familiar with the concept.

“Yes, a treat. Something that’s sweet and tastes pleasing,” she explained.

“You’re a treat,” he said with a grin before taking a sip of the small beer.

She blushed and put her hand on his knee. For all their differences, she loved him and he loved her. He was here, risking his life to be close to her. That was all that mattered. It was like something in a song.

“I must go soon,” she said sadly when their time was nearly done. “Mother will be anxious if she stops by to bid me goodnight and I’m not in my room.”

His eyes filled with disquiet and she loathed leaving him. He had confessed the night before last that he grew frightened in the crypts sometimes after she left him.

“This is not my place,” he’d said in a small voice…a childlike voice full of superstition and awe.

“It’s only temporary.”

“For how long?” he’d asked.

“Until we leave,” she’d said simply.

“Where will we go?” he’d asked then.

“I don’t know,” she’d answered.

She didn’t…and he didn’t. He was ashamed that he’d not come up with a better plan for them, she knew. He’d done all he could to return to her. But, he’d not decided on a way for them to be together as she’d begged him to do all those moons ago when he’d saved her from Joffrey’s assault and been forced to flee the castle.

There was no little cottage in the woods for them to run off to like children in a tale, no secret cave where they could live in comfort, no magical island where they could shelter together and pretend the rest of the world did not exist.

It would be up to her to think of something, she realized. Jon was clever. He was strong and brave. He had good instincts and he could think quickly but he was a Wildling and out of his element here. She would need to help them find a way.

So, Sansa had told him stories about Volantis and the Summer Isles that she’d learned in her lessons to ease both their worries and calm his fears in the night. He’d liked her stories so he had made her promise to tell him more.

“I can pretend I’m off visiting those places with you when I shut my eyes at night and am alone down here.”

Tonight was no different when he asked her to tell him something sweet to think on.

“Shall I tell you of Braavos where instead of roads they have canals? It is the City of a Hundred Isles they say.”

“What are canals?”

“Man-made waterways. Everyone travels by boat along them. They pass between the houses and buildings in watercraft and can go from one end of the Free City of Braavos to another that way.”

“Truly?” he asked with a hint of suspicion as though she would tease him with a false tale.

“Yes, truly,” she assured him, hiding her smirk.

He was six and ten but he seemed more like six in his innocence sometimes. But then Sansa recalled that he could stalk and kill a deer on his own without a bow. Then, he could build a fire and cook the deer’s meat to fill his belly. He could skin that deer to make pelts and clothing from it. He had lived in the most unforgiving part of the North without a proper roof over his head for most of his life. And he possessed a skill...a power that was awe-inspiring and fantastic.  What did it matter if he’d not heard of canals before?

“Why do they call it the Free City of Braavos?” he asked next, trying to delay her departure. He nestled down beside her on the floor, laying his head on her shoulder.

“It was founded by slaves that escaped from Valyria.”

“Free people in a free city,” he said with a smile. “Like the Free Folk.”

“Yes,” she said as her finger stroked his beard. “Like the Free Folk, I suppose. I could bring a book about it tomorrow if you like,” she offered. “Something for you to look at while I am away.”

“Why?” he asked.

“To…to pass the time, silly,” she said.

“But I…” He ducked his head and looked away.

_Of course. So stupid of you, Sansa. He cannot read._

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“I know my letters,” he said with a touch of pride despite his shame. “Most of us don’t. I must’ve learnt them before Mance took me. But I…I never learned to read proper.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said soothingly but he was still not looking at her. Jon would be worrying over this, she knew. She cupped his cheek and said, “I can teach you if you like…when we are away from here and it is just the two of us…perhaps we’ll take a ship across the Narrow Seas and see the great Titan of Braavos. It’s a large statue…one of the Nine Wonders Made by Man, it’s called. The Wall is one of them, too.”

“I’ve scaled the one several times. Perhaps I could scale the other,” he joked. It was a feeble sort of joke and yet it made her smile.

“I know you could,” she said. “And after you do, we’ll find us a room and watch the boats go up and down the canals by day and at night I’ll teach you to read. We’ll find work and…”

“And be together always,” he finished for her. His smile was half teasing and half wistful. She knew how he felt.

“Good night, Jon,” she said, rising to her feet.

“Good night, Sweet Sansa,” he replied as he stood beside her.

He kissed her lips chastely this time and did not repeat his actions from last night. She wasn’t sure if that pleased her or not.

 

* * *

 

 

When Ghost and Sansa left, he tried not to despair. But it was not easy. Here in the dark, beneath the ground…he could not see the sky or the stars. He could not hear the calls of birds or the howling of the wolves in the wood. He was alone with the dead and frightened. It felt as though he could not breathe properly down here.

He felt like a boy, so exposed and useless before Sansa. She knew all manner of things that he did not. What good was he to her? What hope was there for them?

Their talk of Free Cities and places they could run away to was just talk. She had asked him to find a way and he had only found his way back to her. He’d failed the essential second part of finding a way for them to be together.

He stood and stretched and wandered off to make water away from the statue he preferred to sleep beneath, the young lady with the sad face. _“My Aunt Lyanna,_ ” Sansa had told him.

Sansa had told him the tragic tale of the Wolf Girl that was stolen by the Dragon Prince and Jon had never heard a tale of such woe. He thought Ygritte might cry to hear of it and Tormund would say it was a shame. He wished Mance could compose a song about it for him. Mance’s songs were often the best of any of his people.

 _My people. They are no longer my people_ , he thought sadly. I _forsook them and made Sansa my people. She is all I have now and I am useless to her_.

_Don’t be such a boy. Be a man. Be her man and find a way._

_How?_ he wondered for the thousandth time.

Beneath the lady’s statue, Jon nestled down with his small horse blanket and knew it would be a long wait until he could hope to see her again. He closed his eyes and drifted.

 

~~~~~~~

 

_The fire is nearly out in her chambers but it is warm tonight._

_Her tinkling laughter echoes around the large room made of rock._

_“Ghost,” she laughs. “Turn around.”_

_He does not though. He’s a direwolf and he cannot understand all her words._

_And the voice inside wishes to watch even though he knows he shouldn’t._

_She removes her half-boots and soiled dress. She sits and brushes her hair. She splashes water in her face. She stands before the fire in just her shift._

_His cold wet nose bumps her hip._

_“Are you watching me, Jon?” she asks curiously._

_The wolf says nothing for wolves don’t speak._

_The maiden lifts her shift over her head and he sees her teats; round, firm and perfect._

_She’s still got something on. It covers her sex. She toys with the strings and the man inside him is eager for her to remove the last of her clothing._

_There’s a knock then at the door and she jumps. She grabs something to cover herself. It large and covers her fully._

_“Sansa,” a woman’s voice says. “Are you alright?”_

_“Yes, Mother.”_

_“Septa Mordane said she could not find you after dinner. We both wished to speak with you regarding letters we’ve received from Houses Manderly, Mallister and Glover.”_

_“Oh, I’m sorry, Mother. I was feeling tired after dinner and I went to the...library.”_

_“The library?”_

_“I fell asleep in Father’s chair there. Perhaps we could speak tomorrow about the letters.”_

_“Very well, my dear.” The woman starts to go but turns back. “Have you seen Arya?”_

_“No, Mother. Not since I broke my fast this morning.”_

_“That girl,” the woman says testily. “Oh, well. Get some rest, Sansa.”_

_“Yes, Mother.”_

_Before the door closes, he makes his move. He needs to be outside tonight. He wants to hunt and see the stars._

 

~~~~~~~~

 

 _Come here_ , his mind said two hours later.

Ghost had had his fill of chasing squirrels in the godswood. He’d caught one and eaten it, a sweet victory for the wolf.

 _Come to me. I need you tonight, boy_.

Jon’s eyes returned to normal and he rose from the dirt floor. He grabbed the torch and rusted sword before he walked to the spiral stairs. When he reached the exit of the crypts, he warged into Ghost. The wolf was sitting outside the doors and no one was around. He cracked the door open, leaving the torch burning on the other side in a sconce. He gripped the ancient sword tightly in his fist.

“Come, Ghost,” he said. “Lead me to the hot water.”

The direwolf didn’t reply of course. But he’d led him all the same.

Jon had tried to explain about skin changing and wargs to Sansa the first night he’d arrived. She’d been curious but he could also see the skepticism and disbelief that loomed in the back of her mind. It was something he’d been aware of for so long that it was hard for him to see things from her perspective at first.

But as he’d described all the sights he’d had of the castle and its people and how that had aided him, she had started to believe.

“And, have you…have you watched me…through Ghost?” she’d asked at last.

“Hundreds of times,” he’d replied lightly.

Her eyes had narrowed and Jon realized his folly too late.

“You watched me? When and where have you _watched_ me exactly, Jon?”

“Um…I’ve watched you sew with the other ladies and sing in the sept with your septa. I’ve seen you talking to others. I’ve seen you in the Great Hall and riding in the woods and…”

“And not at night when I undress for bed or when I bathe?” she’d asked in a tone that told him he’d best not lie.

“I…may have,” he’d replied sheepishly.

She’d crossed her arms over her chest and her cheeks had turned bright pink.

“That’s hardly fair or chivalrous of you,” she’d declared hotly.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said apologetically…and then he’d smirked like a fool.

She’d gasped and slapped his arm causing him to chuckle.

“You’re wicked, Jon!” she’d scolded.

“And you’re beautiful, my lady,” he’d said. “How could I help but look? Ghost doesn’t know to look away.”

She’d tried to pretend she was still cross but Jon had seen the laughter beneath the frown. Soon enough, he’d pulled her to him and started kissing her. She’d yielded quickly with nary a protest and kissed him back.

Jon and Ghost slipped silently across the castle grounds in the dark of night. The moon had not risen just yet but the wolf’s white coat seemed to glow in the starlight. The castle had grown used to Ghost though. The man however is dressed in dark clothes with dark hair, only the white of his face would be visible and his face was very filthy he knew.

His lady deserved something better tomorrow, he thought. He would bathe and look a bit more appealing, he hoped. She would be surprised…and pleased.

They reached the godswood without drawing any attention and Ghost led him to the hot springs. Jon quickly shed his clothes. He washed them first and laid them upon a rock to dry before he climbed into the warm water.

His tired muscles ached and his torn knuckles screamed in complaint at first but, as he eased down into the water until everything from the chin down was covered, he started to relax. He dunked his head and scrubbed at his beard and hair with his fingers.

Ghost snorted at his antics at first but then growled unexpectedly.

Jon froze in horror. He had been discovered and he was naked and defenseless save his wolf and a rusted sword. He heard the footsteps approaching and his heart thundered painfully in fear.

_At least I need not expose Sansa this way. I will claim I snuck in on my own and let them do what they wish with me and never betray her for helping me._

“Did you want some soap?” a sing-song voice said from the shadows.

Jon’s jaw dropped in disbelief as Sansa slipped from behind a tree. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was dreaming. Ghost relaxed at once and went over to her. He nuzzled her hand and Jon noticed her arms were holding a bundle.

“I brought a towel,” she said. “And soap for you.” She was nervous and yet trying not to be.

“How did you…”

“I just…Ghost left and I started to fall asleep and then I…I dreamed of you here,” she said. “I don’t know why exactly.”

“Did you…Sansa did you warg into Ghost?”

_Could she be a warg, too? Could she share Ghost with me?_

He was not certain if it was possible but it could be. But they could not both share Ghost at the same time. Of that he was sure.

“I don’t know. I just…I saw you heading here.”

“Did anyone see you leave the castle?” he asked anxiously.

He was used to slipping by unnoticed. Sansa was not. He knew she had been diligent about keeping him a secret but he suspected she’d been fortunate so far. It would not last forever.

“I don’t think so,” she said biting at her lip. “It’s dark out and…” She was not certain, he could tell.

He listened attentively for any sounds of men moving through the woods, seeking to learn why their lord’s daughter had left her chambers in the night. He heard nothing. He warged into Ghost and heard nothing with his keener ears.

“I’m a wicked girl, I suppose. I came to have a look at you, Jon,” Sansa was whispering when he slipped back into his skin. “Tis only fair,” she added.

There was a determined look in her eye, a jut of her chin that dared him to defy her.

He would never defy her, he suspected.

“Aye…have your look then,” he gulped as he rose from the water to take the soap from her trembling hand.

 

* * *

 

 

His whole body was muscle it seemed. His shoulders and chest and arms were corded with muscle but covered with smooth pale skin. A line of hair began below his naval and ran down to his manhood that was surrounded by thick, black hair. Sansa tried not to stare at what stood out from all that hair of his but she’d never before seen a man unclothed. His legs were well muscled like the rest of him.

Water rolled down his skin. Sansa thought she should like to dry him with the towel when he was clean. His eyes burned with an intensity, never dropping from her own. He took the hunk of soap she offered him and sank slowly back into the water.

“You could join me,” he said in a husky tone that made her shiver and that ache returned.

“Yes…I could join you.”

This had been unspeakably bold of her. She’d been asleep in her bed and dreaming of Jon watching her undress. She’d imagined him touching her breasts again. She thought about him kissing her there.

 _“I just wanted to kiss you somewhere else,”_ he’d said the night before.

Then, her dream had changed and she’d seen the courtyard at night. Jon had come out from the crypt entrance and spoke to her…he’d spoke to Ghost. They’d walked to the godswood and Sansa had awoke in her bed hot and flushed and needy.

 _Madness_ , she thought. _You cannot_.

But she did.

She spoke not a word but shed her dressing robe and shift and the slippers she had donned.

She felt Jon’s eyes all over her body now. That intense hunger in his eyes from when she’d had her look at him tripled now that the tables were turned. It inflamed her…but made her shy, too. She was grateful to slip into the water, her on one side and him on the other. For several moments, there was only the sounds of the night around them…and their heavy breathing as they stared at each other.

Jon took the soap at last and began washing his hair and face and beard with it. He went under the water to rinse. Sansa wondered if he could see her like that but decided it was too dark.

When he came back up to the surface, he was nearer.

“May I kiss you here, my lady?” he asked.

He stood at his full height, half his chest out of the water. Sansa did the same and her breasts were exposed. He licked his lips and she licked her own.

“Yes,” she whispered and allowed her eyes to flutter closed.

She heard the water swish with his movements and then felt his strong arms around her…but now, it wasn’t just his strong arms. It was his skin she felt against her own. His hands were callused but gentle. The rest of his skin was soft and warm. She loved it. She felt his soft lips nip her chin, her cheek, her lips.

“Open your eyes, my love,” he said softly after he’d kissed her for several minutes.

She did and saw his dark grey eyes before her as they reflected the newly risen moon. His body was hard against hers. She felt his manhood poking at her belly through the water. His arms were around her and she felt afraid…not of him, just of the unknown.

“I’m a maid,” she whimpered, not sure what she wanted this night.

“I know,” he said lovingly. He cupped her cheek and said sincerely, “A maid you will remain until you wish to be otherwise. I’ve never been with a woman, Sansa. I’ll wait for you as long as you wish. I just want to kiss you is all.”

Jon was no one for her to fear. He loved her as purely as any knight had ever loved his lady. A Wildling he might be but he was kind and gentle. She wanted his kisses…she wanted him.

“Will you kiss me there, please?” she begged, her eyes drifting down towards her breasts before she looked back up again.

His eyes widened in shock and she thought he was repulsed by her forwardness at first. She was mistaken.

“Thank you, Sansa,” he said instead before he dipped his head and captured her nipple with his lips.

 _How could this feel so good?_ she wondered as he started to lave and suckle her.

She moaned and pressed herself against him more firmly. The ache between her legs grew unbearable as he continued his attentions to her breasts.

“Jon…Jon…Jon…” she said over and over. Her hands grasped his wet hair and he sank down to wrap his arms around her. She felt his hands squeeze her bottom. She was dizzy and weak. “Jon, I think I might faint,” she cried.

“No fainting now,” he chuckled and his thigh came up between her legs. “Rest against me,” he urged. “A seat for my lady,” he said.

She did just that, feeling his strong thigh and the hair that covered it against her most private place. She soon discovered that this seat brought its own form of torment. For resting there increased and centered that ache between her legs. She moved against him experimentally and gasped at the jolt of pleasure in produced.

“Good?” he asked, raising his head from her breasts.

“ _Uh…hmmm,”_ she sighed in response.

She felt his manhood poking into her hip every so often as she rocked into his thigh. She didn’t care. His mouth on her breasts and the ache between her legs were all she could concentrate on.

His hands held her bottom firmly now and he helped her glide up and down his leg in the warm water. The night air was chilly but she didn’t care. They were on fire in the water.

Just when Sansa didn’t think the incredible sensation could get any better, a tightness in her belly coiled up and up and then released. It was like a blaze of fireflies before he eyes and a tingling warmth ran throughout her body. She cried out at this unexpected sensation of falling and floating. It was bliss…far better than biting into a lemon cake. A treat.

“ _You’re a treat,”_ he’d said earlier.

Sansa sank down into the water feeling weightless and lightheaded. One of Jon’s hands still held her up, kept her from sinking beneath the surface. But the other slipped from where he’d been holding her bottom and moved to his front. He looked down at the water and she noticed his hand moving beneath the surface.

 _You deserve a treat_ , she thought as instinct told her what he might be doing.

“What are you doing?” she asked. He didn’t answer but bit his lip. “May I help?” she asked next.

His hand stopped and he said in a strangled voice, “Only if you want to.”

“I want to if it brings you pleasure like you just did for me.”

He guided her hand to where his manhood was hard and straight beneath the surface now. She wrapped her hand around it and he covered her hand with his own. Up and down, he showed her how to grasp him and how to move. He grunted out her name soon after and Sansa understood that he had spilled his seed in the water. She wondered if it would find its way to her womb like that with them both in the water together. She wondered if she’d mind if it did.

Jon leaned into her shoulder as she released his length that was now softer feeling. He kissed her shoulder and said, “I love you, Sansa.”

“I love you, too.”

They climbed out of the pool soon after and dried each other with the towel, stopping often to kiss or touch or discover one another. They dressed and Jon told her he would warg into Ghost and see if the way was clear from the godswood entrance to the castle. He held her hand and led her from the woods while his other hand held onto the rusted sword from the crypt.

When they reached the courtyard, she told him to hurry back to the crypt and that she’d try and bring him something to eat in the morning. She assured him that if she was discovered out of bed she could easily fib and say she’d wanted a bite to eat. He leaned in for one more kiss before he disappeared like a shadow into the crypts. Then, Sansa swiftly headed indoors and to her chambers.

She still held the damp towel. The hunk of soap had been lost but it was no matter. The ends of her hair were wet. She doubted anyone would believe she’d left her chamber this late for food if they saw her. She lengthened her stride.

She replayed the events of the night in her mind as she walked, not quite able to believe it had really happened.

She met no one in the hall or on the stair. She thanked the gods for her good fortune. She had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling aloud at what she’d done with Jon in the hot spring pool as her chamber was nearly within reach. No one would believe it. Lady Sansa Stark had had a forbidden tryst in the godswood with her Wildling lover. It seemed as fantastic a tale as anything Old Nan had told them as children. She felt proud in way, almost a bit smug.

But her pride and smugness disappeared in an instant when she opened her chamber door. There sat her sister Arya on her bed in her night rail with her hair braided over one shoulder.

“Who is he?” Arya asked, half-amused and half-concerned.

“No one,” Sansa lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are worried about what Arya saw precisely, I'm going with her seeing them kiss as they exited the godswood.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Arya Underfoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya meets Jon and wants to help. Sansa feels an ignoble jealousy. Jon is taken from the crypts.

 

Once, years ago in the midst of a sisterly squabble worse than usual, Father had told her that she and Sansa might be as different as the sun and moon but that they were sisters, the same Blood of Winterfell, and that they needed each other. He told her about wolves, that wolves were pack animals that had to stick together in order to survive. She’d not forgotten her father’s lessons.

As the years had passed and the girls grew towards womanhood, they had mostly learnt to put aside their differences in temperament and their more childish and petty disagreements. Sansa enjoyed things that Arya did not and vice versa but they no longer let their differences define their relationship. Of course, they still quarreled on occasion. It was not always perfect between them and Arya was not quite thirteen. They did not always see eye to eye but they were sisters and they loved one another.

But Arya had flowered for the first time recently and taken to spending more time alone as she pondered what this development meant for her and her future. Mother said it was a wonderful thing and that a brand new world was opened for her now. To Arya though, it felt more as though a door was closing, the door to the girlhood she had always known. She didn’t want to go and be a wife to some faceless lord or knight because Mother or Father or…gods forbid…Robb said she must.

She spoke to her sister of her fears not so very long ago and was astonished to find that Sansa didn’t want that faceless knight or lord either.

Sansa had brushed back her unruly tangles with a loving smile and said, “No…there is so much more to you than that.”

It was as though the sisters had some common ground at last. It had not occurred to her that Sansa might not want to marry some stranger for reasons other than her own. But perhaps she should’ve known it all along by the wistful, dreamy look of Sansa’s when they spoke. Whereas Arya harbored a fear of losing herself and her girlish dreams of freedom, Sansa didn’t wish to marry some stranger because she was already in love with someone else.

Tonight, she had seen proof with her own eyes that Sansa’s heart already belonged to another.

“No one? Don’t lie. I saw you. You’re in love with him,” Arya said bluntly after her sister’s denial.

There was no question in her tone. Sansa would have to be in love to kiss a man like that.

The sisters stood facing one another, both with their arms crossed and contentious looks upon their faces. Sansa sighed and was the first to look away. She was still stubbornly trying to pretend Arya had not seen them creeping into the courtyard from the godswood hand in hand. As though Arya had not seen the way they kissed each other good-bye as he fled like a shadow towards the entrance to the crypts.

“I could help you, you know,” Arya said next. Her sister turned her head further away. “It was mere chance that had me coming back from the stables so late having fallen asleep in the hay loft. But if I’ve spotted you with him, it won’t be long before someone else sees him…if they haven’t already tonight.”

That did it. Sansa’s pretty blue eyes were wide and fearful when she looked back at her. “You won’t tell, will you?” she asked tremulously.

“Tell me who he is, Sansa.”

Her sister’s hand fluttered towards her throat as though she considered trapping the words there. But at last, she answered. “He’s a…a young man I met many moons ago. I…Arya, please…if he’s discovered…”

“I won’t tell,” she promised. “How long as he been in the crypts?”

“Not even a sennight yet.”

“How did he come to be there? He can’t stay there for long.”

“He stole into the castle one night and I know he can’t stay there for long. We just haven’t figured out where we will…”

“We?” Arya said concernedly as she approached her sister. “Sansa, are you planning to run away with him?”

Her sister studied her shoes.

_If Robb finds out, he’ll kill him. And what would Mother think? First the direwolf and now…_

Intuition struck then. “Sansa, is Ghost…does Ghost belong to him?”

“Ghost isn’t a pet. He doesn’t belong to anyone,” Sansa said. “But he is Jon’s as much as he is anyone’s.”

“Jon?”

“Yes, that is his name.”

Arya sucked on her bottom lip and felt a queer pang. She wasn’t certain why the stranger’s name did that. She thought it was a nice name. For some reason, the name brought to mind one of the stories Old Nan used to tell her and Bran at night when they were smaller. It was about the Wildlings and a little boy named Jon that they’d stolen and taken far away beyond the Wall. Nan said some believed the boy had died there but she said the boy was clever and he had lived. And there amongst the Wildlings, the boy had had many adventures until he found his way home again.

Nan would grow teary at times when she told the stories but those were some of Arya’s favorite tales…until Mother heard Nan telling it. After that, Nan said she couldn’t remember the stories anymore when Arya or Bran would ask for them.

“Take me…may I meet him?” she asked, turning her demand into a request. Sansa would prefer that.

“Now?!”

“Why not?”

Sansa grimaced but said, “Alright.”

The sisters crept along the corridors, out the door and stole silently along the walls towards the crypts avoiding the guards. Sansa had said he would be worried over her coming to him again tonight and so late and that he might be suspicious of Arya at first. He didn’t seem all that concerned though as he snored away beneath Aunt Lyanna’s statue.

Arya studied the young man closely where he slept on the floor. He was young, younger than Robb and closer to Sansa in age. He looked carefree in his repose. His hair was dark and curly. Beneath his scruffy beard, he had a long face and full lips.

He was handsome she supposed but not in the way Arya would’ve expected for Sansa to be so obviously besotted. Arya noticed his simple tunic and breeches, the ratty old blanket he laid upon and his bound knuckles. She also noticed the gentle way her sister knelt beside him and lovingly stroked his face to wake him.

“He must be tired from…earlier,” her sister said. If it weren’t so dark in the torchlight, Arya would swear Sansa was blushing.

“Have you lain with him, Sansa?”

“What?! No…not, uh…not that,” her sister said in a strained voice that whispered of some unspoken guilt.

Arya scowled at her. Then, the man’s eyes fluttered opened and Arya was met with eyes that were the same grey as her own. Inexplicably, she decided right then that she liked him.

 _He looks a bit like me_ , she thought and was pleased at the notion.

He sat up hurriedly when he saw Arya. He scrambled to his feet and reached for a rusted, old sword by his side until the cobwebs cleared and he evidently realized that he was facing no enemy, just Sansa and another girl.

“It’s alright. We mean no harm,” Sansa cooed sweetly by his side as she continued to stroke his cheek, a gentle gesture that reminded Arya of a mother calming her child after a bad dream.

Arya observed the way the man’s arms instinctively drew Sansa to his left side while his right hand grasped the iron sword. He meant to hold her close and defend her if need be though Sansa was in no danger here in Winterfell.

“This is my sister Arya, Jon. She, um…saw us earlier in the courtyard. She wanted to meet you. She promised not to tell.”

“Where are you from, Jon?” Arya asked. She’d waited to ask this of him because Sansa might’ve told her a tale. She hoped to hear the truth from him.

“I’m a…I come from…”

“Further north,” Sansa said smoothly. “He was one of Lord Karstark’s…”

Arya held up her hand to silence her sister. “He has a tongue.”

“I was a servant of Lord Karstark’s…my lady. I came to the feast for King Robert and I, uh…” His eyes skittered away towards Sansa’s wondering what she’d told and what she hadn’t no doubt. “I fell in love with your sister there and…”

“I told you about that night…when Joffrey tried to force himself on me. The man that helped me…the one that ran away after? Jon was that man. He saved me and…we fell in love,” her sister finished softly.

“Truly?” They both nodded. “And what brings you back here from Karhold?”

“I, uh…” He glanced at Sansa once more. He clearly wasn’t much of a liar, at least not when he was freshly woken from sleep. “I worried over your sister when word got out that King Robert had died and Joffrey was king. I left my place to see her. It was rash of me but I…I love her. I feared Joffrey would seek to make her his bride again. I could not stand the thoughts of him touching her ever again,” he finished with a growl.

Arya couldn’t help but smile at that. It was rash of him to leave his place and he was just a servant, a servant that imagined he could keep a king from her sister somehow. Sansa could never marry him but there was something sweet about the pair of them.

 _And wouldn’t Mother would be beside herself to see her darling Sansa in the arms of a serving man?_ Arya thought with wicked glee.

Sansa was always so good. Mother and Septa Mordane had always held Sansa up as the ideal and often Arya had been told how she was lacking by comparison. The thought of Sansa carrying on some sort of love affair with this young man under the noses of their family was decidedly pleasing to Arya’s more rebellious nature.

Regardless, Arya had hated Prince Joffrey when he came to Winterfell and Joffrey was the reason that Father had been called away. If this man had helped her sister escape his clutches once, perhaps he could help her escape him permanently.

 _Who’s to say they could not find a way marry in the end?_ she thought.

“What if I could find you a place in Wintertown? Some sort of work?” she asked Jon.

“How would you do that?” Sansa asked.

“I talk to everyone there. I know everyone in the Wintertown. I’m Arya Underfoot, remember?”

Sansa blushed at her old nickname that the guards had given her long ago and Jon chuckled at the joke, understanding the meaning even if he wasn’t privy to the memories.

“He can’t stay here forever, Sansa.”

“But how would I see him if he’s there and I’m here?”

_Oh, you are quite lovestruck, sister. Is he as far gone for you?_

“We’ll work on that,” she said assuredly.

She averted her head when it was time to go as they kissed good-bye…as though they hadn’t bloody kissed earlier in the courtyard. Again, Arya wondered at their romance and how long this had truly been going on. For Jon to have saved her from Joffrey might’ve been reason enough for Sansa to form a fanciful attachment but their bond seemed deeper than that. She suspected Sansa and Jon were not telling the whole truth. But she would winkle it out of them in time. She could help them whether they were clever enough to realize it or not.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry about last night…about surprising you with Arya. And, I’m sorry I couldn’t bring more tonight,” Sansa said as she laid out the loaf of bread she’d swiped from the kitchens the next night.

“It’s fine,” he said as he tore into the bread she had brought him. “I liked meeting her. And I’m not starved. Arya brought me a meat pie earlier.”

Sansa’s eyes widened in surprise. “Arya…came here? And brought you food?”

“Aye,” he replied with a smile. “She came early today and kept me company for a time. I soon learned it was only because she wished to avoid her lessons but I can’t complain about that. Company is welcome down here in the dark and she brought Ghost with her.”

“Oh, I wondered where he’d went off to…”

Jon was not attending to what she said though as he continued, “She’s quite funny and she knows many things about Wintertown that I would never know.” He took another bite of his bread and said, “She reminds me of my people. I mean of the Free Folk a bit.”

Why did she suddenly feel ill-tempered about that?

 _Because he was mine, my secret…my Wildling lover_ , she thought with shame.

It was not Arya’s fault that she’d seen them kissing in the courtyard and discovered her secret. Arya had said she would help them. She knew everyone in Wintertown. Perhaps there’d be a way for him to leave the crypts and be out in the open without fear and then a way for them to meet outside the castle walls.

But right or wrong, Sansa would admit she had enjoyed having Jon as hers and hers alone.

_He’s still yours. He’s not in love with Arya. He didn’t scale the Wall to come back to her._

Sansa shoved aside her unkind and jealous thoughts and focused on their goal of finding a way to be together. If Jon were accepted in Wintertown by the smallfolk as one of them, there would be more possibilities opened to them though time was hurtling along. Father would reach Kings Landing eventually and the plan was for Sansa to be betrothed well before that.

_Mother and Robb would never agree to a match with Jon in a million years though even if he’d lived in Wintertown all his life. We’ll still have to come up with some plan._

She watched Jon eat his bread and smack his lips. She regretted that she’d not managed to swipe him anything to drink tonight. Two of the serving women had been eyeing her closely in the kitchens.

“You must be thirsty,” she said. “I can bring back some water later…”

He shook his head and pulled a flask out from under the blanket and took a drink. It was not the one she had brought him previously as she always took it back with her to refill it. He grinned and wiped a bit of the liquid from his chin as that spark of jealousy blazed forth again and against her nobler wishes.

“Arya?” she asked sullenly, already knowing it was her doing.

“Aye,” he replied happily, not catching her tone.

“I suppose Arya can see you fed and cared for then,” she said in a huff and rose to her feet. “I suppose you might prefer Arya’s company from now on as she knows everyone in Wintertown and will see you suitably settled there.”

His jaw dropped and his face showed his surprise at this turn in the conversation. She could feel the ignominious tears gathering in her eyes. Her heart ached, still she turned and strode away. It only took him a moment to catch her in his arms though.

“What’s all this?” he asked, gathering her close and touching her cheek. “How have I offended you, my lady?”

Like a wounded child, Sansa’s face screwed up and the tears leaked out much to her mortification. “You like her now!” she cried and felt wretched for admitting these pitiable things aloud.

“Why shouldn’t I like her?” he asked in confusion. “She’s your sister and she wishes to help us. If you are my lady,” he said with a dear smile, “that means she’s my sister, too.”

Sansa bowed her head in shame at her childish envy. All her life, Arya was the amusing one. Arya was the girl that scampered about and made the men laugh as they looked upon her antics with indulgent and adoring smiles. Even Father would chuckle at Arya’s hoydenish ways. No one would’ve laughed if Sansa behaved like that. Everyone would’ve been too shocked.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as the hot tears wetted her cheeks. “I’m being a fool. I…I felt jealous.”

“Jealous of your sister?” he asked. She nodded and wailed like a babe when he embraced her and kissed her cheek. “You’ve no reason to be jealous of her. I like her. I _love_ you.”

“I love you, too. I’m sorry. I’m…”

He cut her off from saying anything further as he kissed her passionately. His arms went round her waist as he pulled her close. His lips seared her with the intensity of their onslaught as he renewed his amorous attentions. That same dizzy ache began to build in her tummy like it had the night before in the godswood. She felt his tongue exploring her own and she moaned into his mouth. The memory of the warm water and their naked bodies made her smallclothes damp. She longed to have less clothes between them now as she fisted his tunic to keep him there kissing her and making her forget all her silly thoughts from earlier.

“Jon…” she sighed when he pulled back to allow them breath.

“You were jealous over me,” he said with a smug smile whilst swiping the rest of her tears off her cheeks.

“Don’t tease me,” she begged.

“Come here,” he urged, tugging her towards his blanket.

He sat down and pulled her atop of him, her body straddling his own. Her dress was bunched up around her knees and only her small clothes separated her body from his breeches. She could feel his manhood grow hard and poke into her through the fabric. And then his hands were on her bottom and he was kissing her again and nothing mattered. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t proper and that they were not married. His body pressed against her own and his mouth on her neck and face made all rational thought flee.

Sansa explored his mouth next and then kissed her way down his throat. She sucked at his neck where his beard ended and he moaned loudly. When she looked at him in the torchlight again, there was a reddish mark on his flesh.

 _Mine,_ she thought with a primal sort of satisfaction.

His hands were ghosting across the front of her dress and Sansa could feel her breasts ache, wanting more than anything to feel his mouth on them again. He carded his hand reverently through her hair and told her she was kissed by fire and all his.

 _Yours. I’m yours_ , she thought, equally pleased by that idea.

It was her turn to moan again as his deep, husky voice rumbled sweet but dirty things in her ear with one hand on her breasts and one in her hair with their bodies flush together. Her cheeks were hot and her breath grew short.

His hips began bucking into her. She could feel his stiff length rubbing against her womanhood as they writhed against each other. There were sparks flying in the air now that had nothing to do with jealousy as a pleasurable warmth seeped through her loins and curled up tight inside her belly.

“Sansa…gods, Sansa…I want you,” he grunted as he grasped her bottom tightly.

One of his hands, the one that had been touching her breast, had slithered up her skirts until she felt it, warm and rough through her small clothes, tracing her folds.

“Yes…” she whimpered. “Yes…”

That delightful warmth in her tummy was budding and unfolding like a new rose, turning into that bliss he’d given her last night. She could feel the rushing, tingling ecstasy overtaking her senses.

“ _Jon!"_ she cried.

“ _Ahem!”_ a stern voice called loudly from a short distance away.

Sansa yelped and moved off Jon’s lap. Jon’s face, which had been twisted up in expectation of release, became a scowl of consternation and relief cruelly denied.

“Mother is looking for you, Sansa,” Arya said as she rolled her eyes at the pair of them. “I thought you should know before half the castle is sent to find you.”

Ghost stood by her side, his red eyes missing nothing as they scrambled to right themselves…or at least Sansa scrambled to right her dress and hair and Jon made a rather indecent show of trying to hide what their kisses and touches had done to his body.

“Thank you, Arya,” she gasped.

When she looked back at her sister, Arya had turned her head to give them a moment. Sansa started to move away but then turned to him quickly to press a final kiss to his lips.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she promised.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he said gruffly. He eyed Arya and grinned before he whispered in Sansa’s ear, “Right now…I don’t like her so well.”

Sansa laughed in response before grasping her sister’s hand as they raced along the floor of the crypt to find her mother.

 

* * *

 

 

“Come along,” a voice said as he felt a nudge in his ribs the next morning.

He’d been fast asleep once more and dreaming of Sansa. He dreamt of her soft lips on his neck as they had kissed hungrily last night after his belly was filled. He had run his hands through her silky, red hair and then touched the soft swell of her breasts through her dress. Her dress was very pretty…he would’ve liked to have torn it off her. He wished he could see her unclothed again like he had that night in the godswood. His cock was hard and aching for him to touch himself as he was lost in his dreams of Sansa in his arms.

But it was not Sansa that looked down on him and woke him from his sweet dreams. It was the other Stark girl…Arya.

“Get up, lazy,” she said shortly. “We’ve not got all day and this may be the best chance we get.”

Ghost was by her side again. Sansa had said Ghost liked Arya and would follow her about at times when he grew bored of being indoors.

“Where are we going?” he asked as he rubbed his healing knuckles into his eyes to grind away the sleepiness and tried to slyly adjust the evident nature of his dream.

Arya huffed at his ill-disguised attempt and averted her eyes before she said, “To the Wintertown. Just follow me.”

Jon wanted to argue that the people of Winterfell would be stirring. Someone would see him, several someones perhaps. The guards would question him and he’d be imprisoned. But Arya just motioned impatiently for him to follow so he did.

Before they climbed the spiral stairs though, she turned on him with a fierce look and said, “My sister is a maiden and you have not wed her. If you carry on like you’re doing and put a bastard in her belly, I will give you a red smile.”

Jon gaped at her. The Stark sisters certainly kept a man on his toes. “A red smile?!” he gasped. She drew a finger across her throat to make her meaning clear…as if he didn’t know exactly what she meant. _A fine spear wife you would make._ “I…I wouldn’t…I would marry her, Arya. I…”

“Just keep that in mind,” she said tersely before continuing on her way.

Jon shook his head and followed. Up the stair they went with Ghost at their heels and Arya peeked out from the crypts.

“Let me do any talking,” she said.

“Aye,” he replied, chuckling to himself at her bossy tone.

Much like her sister, Arya Stark was not used to being gainsaid…at least not by folk like Jon. W _hat would I say anyway?_

He stayed by her side as she chatted away about nothing as though they had long been friends and his presence in Winterfell was the most natural thing in the world. He could feel eyes turned towards them in curiosity but no one said a word. They were nearly to the main gate when someone stopped them at last, a guard…a very large guard.

“Who’s this? And where are you off to, Lady Arya?”

“This is Jon. I’m walking back to Wintertown with him,” she replied with total ease.

Jon wondered how she did it as his own heart thudded painfully. The tension mounted in his bones like a spring ready to uncoil at any moment. He could hear the low grumbling building in Ghost’s chest next to him.

“Ah, Arya Underfoot has already been off on adventures this morning, eh?” He eyed Jon more closely and said, “I don’t recall you from Wintertown, lad.”

“I, uh…”

“Jon came from further north...near Karhold, Tom. His family sent him off to seek some work. He helped me carry back some things from town this morning.”

 _What things?_ Jon wondered dismally, certain that her lie would soon be found out.

“What things?” Tom asked.

“Fabric for Sansa…for a new dress for her wedding,” the girl answered as though the answer were as plain as day.

Jon’s eyes widened in surprise as did the other man’s.

“I didn’t think Lord Robb or Lady Stark had made a match for Lady Sansa yet.”

“They haven’t,” Arya said rolling her eyes in feigned exasperation. “But a dress takes time to make, longer than it takes for a raven to fly.”

“Aye, ‘tis true,” the man laughed. “Go on then. Shall I send a guard with you, milady?”

“I don’t need a guard,” the girl huffed irritably.

The pair of them and Ghost strode through the gates and Arya led him down the road towards Wintertown. He kept looking back over his shoulder as he moved farther and farther from the castle. It seemed strange to leave her behind. It felt all wrong. He’d left his horse blanket, too.

“I’ll sneak you back in later if necessary.”

“I thought we were done for there,” he confessed. “I was sure the guard would take one look at me and know something wasn’t right.”

“Fat Tom?” she scoffed. “No…I didn’t think we needed to worry with him on the gate.”

“Is your sister truly getting married?” he asked in a pained voice.

“She doesn’t want to but the plan was to arrange some other match for her before Father reaches Kings Landing. He’s taking a long time getting there, stopping to visit a few other castles first. But…well, we don’t have forever. Come on.”

Jon’s heart ached now at the thoughts of Sansa marrying someone else. They’d said they would find a way to be together but, for all their sneaking around, they had not solved any of their problems yet. He couldn’t abide the thoughts of some other man, any other man, touching her. And he wanted her to be his wife so he wouldn’t have to feel shame over what he did with her. He would never wish to put a bastard in her belly and cause her that kind of shame. She was his lady love even if he was no knight.

_How Tormund would bellow with laughter at that. Even Mance would have a good laugh. He’d say I’m a bigger romantic fool than him._

They strolled along together to Wintertown and Jon saw many new faces after days of seeing no one but Sansa and now Arya. He felt exposed and uncertain. He was sure someone would spot him for what he was.

“Why are you so frightened of the smallfolk, Jon? Aren’t you smallfolk, too?”

“I…I am,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Ghost nudged his shoulder into Jon’s thigh and it was a comfort at least. His wolf was with him amongst all these kneelers that would wish him dead if they knew the truth. He looked over at Arya and wondered if she’d wish him dead too if she knew what he was.

“Where did you really meet Sansa?” she asked next. She had such habit of surprising him with these questions.

“Um…what? Oh! I, uh…met her at the feast…for King Robert…like I said.”

Her grey eyes narrowed and she poked him in the chest. “I don’t believe you,” she said. He opened his mouth, attempting to form some protest but she turned on her heel again and said, “Come on. Let’s find you some work. You can’t wed my sister if you can’t earn your keep.”

He stretched out his legs to catch up to her quick strides and said, “I didn’t think you’d want someone like me marrying your sister.”

She smirked at him but didn’t say a word and he was left to puzzle over what to make of this little sister of Sansa’s…this little sister he hoped to call his someday.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to write a loving but realistic sisterly relationship between Sansa and Arya. So, I hope no one really minds Sansa's little pangs of envy in this chapter as I find that more realistic than perfect bliss between them at all times.
> 
> Sorry for the delay for any of you that are still reading this and I appreciate your kind comments! I hope to not be so slow updating this next time :)


	7. Coerced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update at last and the tags are updated, too.
> 
> Trigger warning-attempted rape by coercion.

 

“You didn’t find his body because he wasn’t there,” Mance stated, casting a stick into the fire.

“We looked and looked,” Ygritte said mournfully. He knew the girl took it hard. “We found no sign…but several of the huts had burned.”

“It’s been nearly three moons since that raid,” Tormund grumbled. “I liked the boy well enough, Mance. You know I did. But do you really expect me to risk my neck searching the whole of the bloody South to go and find him?”

“I didn’t ask you to go, Tormund,” he said as his eyes watched the flames leap and dance.

“Well, you’re not going,” Tormund growled when he realized his intent.

“Are you planning to stop me, my friend?” he asked wryly.

Tormund eyed him insolently as though he did intend to do just that. But in the end he dropped his eyes and asked, “Why’s it matter that he left us?” He glanced at Ygritte who stared at the fire with angry tears in her eyes as she fletched her arrows.

“It just does.”

The wind howled but it was not so cold tonight. It was not the creeping, unnatural cold his people feared. Mance shivered under his furs. It was not the cold that made him shiver or uneasy though.

The woman’s words echoed in his head.

 _A child you will find south of the Wall where you seek other things. He’ll be the son of a prince. He’ll save the free folk someday. He’ll save us all. A boy, dark of eye and hair_.

Mance had laughed at Mother Mole back then. He’d called her prophesies good stories to tell around the fire by night.

But a year later, perhaps to the very day, Jon had been found amongst the Wull’s men after a raid south of the Wall. Dark of eye and hair, the son of a prince.

Lord Eddard Stark was not a king but once…before the Dragons…the Starks had been kings. He was only a lord now but maybe the boy could still be called a prince, a bastard one.

Mance had spent the night observing the boy sleeping by his fire once he’d learnt his name. He’d wondered if perhaps there was some truth to the witch’s words after all.

With every passing year as he’d watch Jon grow from a boy to a man, he’d become more convinced of it. And with every passing year, his affection for the bastard son of Lord Stark had grown.

He needed to find him and bring him back. And Jon needed to know some truths at last.

Tormund pursed his lips, still grumbling and Mance regretted keeping things from the man. He trusted him implicitly but he’d never told a soul who Jon really was. There were too many of his people that would kill him just for being a Stark, even a bastard one. And Tormund was not known for his discretion, especially when he’d been drinking his beloved fermented goat’s milk.

 _He is owed something though_ , Mance decided.

“Jon’s got a…a role to play…in the war to come,” he said in a measured tone.

“That sounds like something a woods witch would say,” Tormund snorted.

“Perhaps.”

“How are you planning to find him then?” Ygritte asked. “The South is so big.”

“I won’t be searching all the South. I know just where he’s gone,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wendel Manderly has written…or at least his father has,” Robb said struggling to hide his distaste for this whole business.

“Wendel Manderly is a second son…and will likely grow as large as his father,” his mother said from where she sat by the fire with a stony countenance.

_You could help. You could make Sansa join us for this._

“Then who would you recommend, Mother? Time is running out to write to Father and make arrangements.”

“Helman Tallheart or Patrek Mallister have both offered. Both of them are the heir to their house,” his mother replied indifferently. He knew she hated this, too.

“Chose Tallheart,” Theon said beside him. “I like him alright. You wouldn’t want to marry your sister off to a bloody Mallister.”

“House Mallister is sworn to my father, Theon,” Mother said icily.

Robb barely contained his eyeroll. The Ironborn and the Mallisters hated each other. Again, he detested this duty.

In truth, Theon had hinted at himself as a husband for Sansa. But something made Robb hesitate. He liked Theon well enough. They were close…but Robb wasn’t prepared to propose a match between him and his beloved sister. Balon Greyjoy was not a trustworthy man, Mother had said. Father would not approve either. And, he couldn’t imagine sending Sansa to a dismal place like the Iron Islands to live someday when Theon was allowed to return. Nor could he believe his friend would remain faithful to her…but that could be said of many of the men that had made offers for Sansa’s hand.

Mother seemed unwilling to accept anyone.

“Mother…”

“I’ll speak with your sister,” she said, rising at last and not sparing him another look. “I’ll tell her of the offers and that it’s time for her to make a decision.”

“I don’t want to force her, Mother. We all agreed when Father left though.”

“I know!” she snapped. “I know. I just…part of me hoped that there’d be a…never mind. Sansa will do her duty. I’ll speak to her and then you may write to your father…and whoever the lucky man is.”

He walked over and laid a hand upon his mother’s shoulder. He understood her displeasure. He shared it. It was Joffrey that had forced this upon them all.

 _And it will be Sansa who pays the price, one way or another_.

“Whoever it is will be better than Joffrey, right?” he asked. He wanted to believe that. He wanted his mother to tell him it would be so.

Mother clasped his hand and tears sprung to her eyes. She nodded and whispered, “Let us hope.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon looked out at Acorn Water from the hayloft as the rain continued to pour. They would do little work today which suited him fine. He grew tired of Dace telling him how he did everything wrong. He was not afraid of work but he knew nothing of making flour and little of farm work.

Through Arya’s help, he’d met the barkeep of the inn in Wintertown who had recommended him to seek work here. It was temporary but it would do.

_Long enough to make some coin and find a place for Sansa and me to run away perhaps._

The miller had injured his back in a fall. He had been bedridden most days since his injury. His sons were too young to do all the labor and they needed a man about. He was paid in room and board but also being given a small bit of silver, too. He was pleased with the arrangement even while he chaffed at calling Dace master.

He mostly regretted that he had not seen Sansa in nearly a moon because of it.

 _Well, I’ve not seen her in person_ , he thought.

Ghost was still with her and each night and, even during the day sometimes, he would seek her out through his friend.

He did not miss the crypts but he missed his beautiful lady coming to him each night. He missed the lilt of her voice and the warmth of her laughter. He missed her fair, soft skin and fiery red hair. He missed her sweet lips.

With the rainy morning, Jon indulged in lying back in the blankets the miller’s wife had kindly provided him with and nestled deeper into the pleasant-smelling hay. He allowed his eyes to roll back and see what Ghost was doing.

 

~~~~~~

 

_Red hair, white skin._

_White fur, red eyes._

_They were always together._

_The girl splashed in the large shiny thing_.

A tub…it’s called a tub, _a voice whispered_.

_She laughed and threatened to wet him when he came closer out of curiosity._

_It was the first time she’d smiled all day._

_He huffed and sniffed the air._

_Roasted meat sat on her tray untouched._

_She did not eat of late._

_She rose from the water, dripping wet._

_He’d grown used to her strange red fur and white flesh._

_He felt the other presence join him._

_He whined._

_It was not painful but it was…different._

_He paced back and forth and turned in circles._

_“Ghost,” the girl said, walking over to him. “Is he with you now? Jon, are you there?” She knelt before him, looking sad. “Will you come back to me? Arya says you are safe. But are you angry? Will you forgive me?”_

_Her words made no sense to the wolf but within him he felt the man’s passions raging._

_He licked her wet skin and she laughed again._

 

~~~~~~

 

Jon’s eyes returned to normal. He was breathing hard, confused by what she’d said. He’d unlaced his breeches whilst he was still with Ghost. Her words were troubling but his aching cock would not be denied. He grasped it, smearing the moisture from the tip across the head before he began stroking himself. The image of Sansa rising from her bath haunted him. Her words though…what was she trying to tell him?

 _Think…with something besides your cock_.

Yet, he did not cease his motions. He thought of her wet hair, dark like dried blood against her wet flesh. Ghost had licked her. He wished he could lick her…everywhere.

“ _Unnn_ …fuck,” he groaned as his hot seed spurted onto his belly with his release.

“Oh, gods!” a voice cried.

His eyes flew open in horror to find the miller’s wife with her head peeping through the loft hole. He’d not heard her between the rain and his preoccupation.

“I’m sorry!” he shouted struggling to lace himself back up and cover his exposed chest.

His cock was now dangling limply between his thighs and a saucy grin formed on her face. Jon’s cheeks were burning. There was something predatory in her eye, something that reminded him of Ygritte. Calla was her name…but he was supposed to call her mistress.

“I’m…” he fumbled before she cut him off.

“I came out here to invite you to join us in breaking your fast. You can join us at the table, I mean.”

“I’ll be there,” he said holding the blanket tightly to his chest.

His hand was still coated with his seed and he tried wiping it without her noticing. She smirked at him. He’d eaten alone in the barn since he’d started work for them. It was good of her to invite him in. He tried to remember some of the things Sansa had taught him.

“Thank you, mistress…for inviting me. And, I’m…I’m sorry…for what you may have seen,” he finished lamely.

He’d not meant to be seen by anyone else, certainly not this woman.

“Hmmm…well, perhaps I’ll bring you a bite here next time,” Calla said in a low voice, her eyes flitting up and down his body. “But come on if your hungry. Old Dace don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Yes…I’ll be there, mistress,” he repeated.

He meant to rise and throw on his tunic but Calla still stood where she was with her head still peeking above the ladder.

The free folk were not modest in the least. Jon had grown up seeing men, women and children bare around a hot spring or when they changed out their furs. He’d witnessed numerous amorous pairs rutting beneath their furs by a fire and even happened upon them in the open once or twice by mistake when the weather wasn’t so cold. It’d never bothered him though he’d try and give the couples their privacy by looking the other way.

But the miller’s wife seemed eager to see as much of him as she could and he did not wish to be seen. He stubbornly held onto the blanket until she gave up headed back down the ladder.

Jon expelled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He was learning more of the kneelers than he’d known before. They were people same as the free folk but they left him perplexed at times. There were times he walked amongst them feeling like at any moment one would cry out that they knew what he was.

After he broke his fast, an awkward meal of Dace grumbling about his back and Calla giving Jon bold looks, he ventured out into the rain to do what chores would not wait for fairer skies. Then, he went for a walk in the nearby woods.

The rain didn’t trouble him. Many a day and night he’d been left in the rain with no tent to cover his head. And this southern, summer rain was gentle and warm compared to any he’d known.

He walked to Wintertown but doubted even Arya would bother to come there today in the rain. He missed her teasing him. He missed her sister even more.

He visited with the barman at the Smoking Log. Two whores from the brothel were there drinking on their own. They gave him smiles which he ignored. He knew of whores and brothels. He’d heard tell of them. And he’d made the mistake on his first full day in Wintertown of politely responding to one of the women from their only to have the girl plop down in his lap and start trying to kiss him. He’d stood up, dumping her in the floor. Everyone present had laughed.

Today, the women stayed where they were as the barman asked about Dace and if Jon was liking he place there.

“It’s alright, I suppose,” he answered.

“Oh, that reminds me. Lady Arya asked after you the day before yesterday.”

Jon’s ears perked up. “She did?”

“Aye. Said she needed to speak to you when she could.” Jon rose to his feet at once. “Where are you going, lad?”

“To the castle,” he replied.

The barman laughed and said, “I don’t think she meant it that urgently. And the guards wouldn’t let the likes of you in without good reason”

“Oh…yes,” he said glumly. He was tired of these ruses. He wanted to see his lady. He wanted to be done with trying to be something he wasn’t.

 _I’m a free man. I could come and go as I please_.

“Come back tomorrow or the day after. I’m sure she’ll have come by again by then.”

“Alright.”

“Speaking of Lord Stark’s girls…did you hear the news about Lady Sansa?”

“What about San-Lady Sansa?”

“The word is she’s to marry…a bloody Southroner. How do you like that?” the barman said sourly.

The man rambled on about Southroners and their ways and what a shame it’d be for Winterfell’s Daughter to be sent south forever.

But Jon could not attend his words. Sound diminished to nothing but a dull nattering in his head as his fists clenched beneath the table. His head hurt…and his blood boiled.

He took his leave of the man and walked along the streets. A boy shouted to ask him if he didn’t have enough sense to get out of the rain. He turned down an alley and nearly was covered in night soil from a window above. He looked up angrily and the woman shrugged indifferently and told him to mind his step. He longed for the openness of the forest and left town.

He wandered aimlessly through the woods. He knew not where he was for a time. His heart cried out for Ghost to come and lead him…to lead him to her again.

He knew now what she’d meant about forgiveness. But how could he blame her? He’d known the terrible position she was in and he’d done nothing to fix things for her as he’d promised.

_“Will you come back to me?”_

Could she even doubt it? He would always come back to her.

The rain fell in sheets and he didn’t care that he was soaked to the bone. He stumbled through the woods with tears in his eyes.

Some bloody lordling named Mallister had proposed and been accepted by Lord Stark’s son who was the Stark in Winterfell now. Robb Stark, Sansa’s elder brother. He hated Robb Stark. He hated lords and lordling sons and the lot of these kneelers that forced a girl to marry a man she did not know or want.

 _Our way may be no better…but I would never hold her if she didn’t want me_.

Blinded by his tears, he ran into something solid and bigger than a tree. He blinked, rubbing his aching head. It was a hut…more like a small cottage.

“Hello,” he called.

No answer.

He pushed at the door and entered. It was dark with only a little light coming in from behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out a fireplace and a bed. There was a small window that was shuttered.

A shuffling sound from the bed drew his eyes. They widened with revulsion when he saw a corpse hosting a score of rats.

He fell backwards on his arse onto the doorstep with a shout.

The rats turned their beady little eyes his way for a moment and then returned to their meal.

Jon stood and rubbed his sore backside, his skin crawling even as his upbringing told him there could be useful things here that the dead wouldn’t need. He’d looted from the dead more than once. His people could not be so choosy.

But his stomach roiled when he heard the munching and gnawing of little jaws and he decided to return another day…if he could find the place again.

It was late once he returned to the mill. There was a lantern glowing inside the house but the barn was dark. He climbed the ladder to his loft and shrugged off his sodden clothes to dry. He’d wrap up in his blanket and be warm enough.

After some fumbling, he lit the candle he’d been permitted and found some supper had been left for him. It was kind of her.

Some mice and beetles had found it first though and the sight brought the corpse and its rats to mind. He frightened the mice away with his knife before he tossed the food out the loft opening.

“Don’t like my cooking?”

He whipped his head around to find Calla at the ladder for the second time today. Twice she’d caught him unawares with the rain.

 _There will not be a third time_ , he vowed.

“Your cooking is fine, mistress. I’m not hungry…and the mice.”

She crinkled her nose at the mention of mice and he was suddenly very aware that he was naked. He reached for one of the blankets.

“No…oh, no,” Calla said, climbing the rest of the way up. “You’re fine just like that.”

“I’m cold,” he lied as his stomach twisted into an uncomfortable knot, more uncomfortable than the thought of the rats and their feast. He clutched the blanket in front of his manhood.

“I could warm you,” she said, unlacing her bodice of her dress and shrugging it off her shoulders along with her shift.

Her breasts were large and pillowy, much larger than Sansa’s. She pushed her dress down her hips and Jon looked away from the wiry black hair covering her sex.

“Dace wouldn’t like this,” he said carefully, shutting his eyes. “He’d have my head.”

“Dace don’t have to know.”

He heard her draw nearer. He breathed in and out and told himself he must use his wits.

“I’m…I can’t…I’ve never...”

“Oh, what a sweet lad, you are. I’d show you the way of it,” she promised, tugging his blanket away and leaving him exposed to her gaze again.

“I don’t want to father a bastard.”

“You won’t father a bastard on me, Jon. There’s ways around it. Surely, you know that.”

He did. He knew there were woods witches that could brew a tea to prevent a babe from being born. He’d heard of the other way, too…of a man spilling his seed outside a woman’s womb.

He felt Calla’s hands on his chest and tried to step back. But if he stepped back too far, he’d fall out of the loft and break his neck. He’d climbed the Wall. He wasn’t about to die of a broken neck by falling out of a barn.

“You’re a married woman.”

“Aye…but so lonely. Old Dace won’t hardly touch me. His cock stays soft half the time when he does take me this past year. And, since his fall, he don’t touch me at all.”

Jon opened his eyes and looked into her face. She had black hair and green eyes. She was not his lady love and he would not do this.

“I can’t.”

“You can,” she purred and her hand grasped his cock. His traitorous cock twitched with interest but the rest of him screamed no. “Mmm…I think part of you definitely can. You won’t go soft on me, will you?”

He smacked her hand away and he saw anger flare in her eyes.

“Don’t do that again!” she warned as she grabbed his arm, her fingernails digging into his flesh.

“I don’t belong to you,” he said.

“I’m not asking you to belong to me. I’m asking you to fuck me. Soft and sweet or hard and fast, whichever you prefer. I need this. You need it, too. I saw you this morning…pleasuring yourself up here. Were you thinking of Calla…or another girl?”

He ignored the question and said, “You weren’t meant to see me then.”

“But I did. I’ve thought of nothing else all day.” Her hand let go of his arm and her fingers traced the muscles of his stomach before she took his hand and brought it to one of her breasts. “Be a good lad and come lay with me.”

“I won’t,” he persisted.

“You will…or I’ll tell Dace you forced yourself on me,” she said coldly.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, shocked by the cruel look in her eyes now.

“I’ll sing a tragic song for Lord Stark. We took the boy in and gave him honest work, milord. I brought him food one night and he threw me down on his blankets, the ones I’d given him, and had his way with me whilst I cried and screamed for my husband.”

Jon’s heart pounded with fear. Would she dare? _Yes, she would_.

“I’ll tell them you covered my mouth and threatened to harm my sweet boys if I didn’t do as you said.”

Her hand moved down to his cock again. She started stroking him and Jon knew he had to get away somehow. And all he could think was what if Sansa heard the story? Would she believe it?

“I’ll say you made me suck your cock to silence my sobs,” Calla said. “They’ll cut your balls off or send you to the Wall…if they don’t just take your head.”

“Stop,” he whimpered. “Please…stop.”

“Now, wouldn’t it be nicer to just do things this way?” she whispered in his ear. “Do as I say and we’ll have no trouble, you and I.”

 _Do as I say_. It sounded a lot like kneel to Jon’s ears.

“Lie down,” he said gruffly.

She smiled in triumph. The coldness was gone and her eyes were soft again as she laid back on the other blanket in the hay, spreading her legs for him.

 _I’m a free man…even her_ e, he thought with a glance at his surroundings. _I will not kneel. And neither will my lady_.

Quick as a flash, he covered her body with his own, pinning her down. She squealed with delight…until she noticed the blade at her throat. She gasped as she beheld the raw fury in his eyes.

“I’m going. I’m leaving. You’ll spread no tales about me. You’ll forget I was ever here. If people ask where your help went, tell them he moved on back towards Karhold from whence he came. If you don’t, I’ll come back here in the dark of night and cut your throat…right after I gut your husband and your brats. Do you understand?” he growled.

She shook like a leaf and nodded.

Jon snatched up his tunic, breeches and boots along with bit of silver he’d been paid and strode to the ladder without giving her a backwards glance.

He dressed once he’d reached the bottom of the ladder. His hands were shaking but she had not made a sound. He tucked his knife in his breeches and walked out into the night.

The rain had slacked off as he made his way towards his earlier find. Hunting and fishing, fighting and killing, looting and stealing and making do with what the gods provided…that was what he knew. He was done with trying to fit in and behave like a kneeler. He was no good to Sansa that way. He would have to be himself and pray the gods would help them.

He could feed himself and find shelter…and he could steal himself a wife.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The miller's boys from Acorn Water are the ones from the books that Theon and Reek (Ramsay) kill to disguise their corpses as Bran and Rickon. The miller's wife had slept with Theon a time or two in the books where she's a far more sympathetic character obviously. They're not named according to asoiaf wiki so I invented names.
> 
> And yes, Jon has decided to take a rasher course with regards to Sansa. We'll see how that works out for him.


	8. A Thief in the Night

 

 

In and out, she pulled the needle through the fabric. Sansa sat amongst the other ladies sewing her maiden’s cloak and hoping for a miracle.

Once, she’d dreamed of making her maiden’s cloak. She’d longed to be wed to a great lord or a prince and become a wife, the lady of a keep and someday a mother.

Now…every stitch filled her with dread. It was as though she could hear the pounding of approaching horses’ hooves every time the needle pierced the cloth.

She’d chosen Mallister as it would take a moon at least for him and his party to travel to Winterfell. But a moon was not a year and time had slipped by at an alarming rate.

 _Our song is almost done, my love_ , she thought.

 _No…no, it’s not. He’ll come_.

But there had been no word of Jon in a fortnight. And, just this morning, Maester Luwin had informed Robb of two vital pieces of information. One was that Father had replied to his letter regarding her engagement and would be armed with the knowledge when he reached Kings Landing. It would be a fair excuse to explain his daughter’s absence especially if she were newly wed. Which made the second piece of information welcome…at least to some. A raven had arrived from Moat Cailin announcing the Mallisters had just passed. It would not be long now.

She saw Arya open the door and peek inside. Septa Mordane pursed her lips at her sister. She had never fully accepted that Lady Stark had allowed her younger daughter to give up sewing at long last and seemed to take Arya’s lack of accomplishment in that area as a personal affront.

Arya’s eyes found hers. She subtly jerked her chin. Apparently, there were things to be communicated this morning.

“Did you need something, Lady Arya?” their septa asked.

“My sister, Septa. Our lady mother wishes to speak with her.”

The septa could hardly refuse that. Sansa laid her cloak aside and rose to join her sister, trying to still the fluttering in her breast. More often than not of late, when Arya came seeking her, it was because of Jon. And the septa would never dare question Lady Stark for pulling her away. She hoped her sister would have news to pass along or a sweet word or two from him. It had been several days since Arya had been able to get away to the Wintertown.

Much as she loathed him being away from the castle, she knew this was for the best. He would’ve been discovered in time if he’d went on hiding in the crypts. But she missed him. She missed his sweet smiles and dark eyes. She missed the way he would kiss her and the exciting thrill of being held in his arms. She missed talking with him and running her fingers through his hair.

But at least, she had Ghost with her to ease the loneliness. She was beginning to understand some of Jon’s strange abilities with the direwolf. She understood because she was starting to experience it as well. Not fully. Not like Jon. But sometimes when she dreamed, she was the wolf. Smells were so much stronger. Hunger was different. Thoughts were so much less complicated. It frightened her but not so much as she would’ve thought. She was growing more used to the wolf dreams but she had no control over them like Jon seemed to.

It seemed to Sansa like a story Nan might’ve told. A maiden and her secret love that shared a special bond and kinship through a magical beast.

Arya led her to her chamber and closed the door. Her sister had a serious look which cause Sansa some disquiet.

“Is he…is something the matter?” she asked, brushing her hands along the front of her dress and trying to stay calm.

Arya raised her grey eyes to her…grey like Jon’s…and said, “Sansa…I’m afraid he’s gone.”

“Gone?  What do you mean gone?”

“He left the place at the mill. The miller says he returned to Karhold from what I’ve heard. No one in Wintertown has seen nor heard of him in nearly a fortnight.”

“No,” she said shaking her head. “No! He wouldn’t just leave, Arya.”

“Sansa…I know you don’t want to doubt him but don’t you think he might?”

“He snuck into Winterfell to be near me. He sent Ghost here to protect me and watch over me. He…”

“I understand your disappointment but perhaps he lost hope. Think of it from Jon’s perspective.” She hated how rational her sister sounded. “He was one of Lord Karstark’s serving men, you said. He realized that no matter how much he loved you he could never…”

“He wouldn’t give up! He climbed the Wall for me!”

Arya stopped speaking and stared at her. Sansa bit her lip and sighed at her outburst. There would be no hiding the truth now.

“Climbed the Wall for you? Sansa…” Arya said in a hushed tone. “Is Jon…is he a Wildling?”

She nodded and clasped Arya’s hands, “He is…but you mustn’t tell a soul. Please, Arya. He’s not like those stories we’ve been told. You’ve met him. You know he’s not like that.”

“No…I don’t think Jon’s anything like the stories we’ve been told. He didn’t just steal you and rape you for one thing. Where did you really meet him?”

“In the woods one afternoon when I traveled with Father to Last Hearth last year.”

“A chance encounter?”

“Yes,” Sansa answered, smiling at the romanticism of that thought. “And then he came here when King Robert visited. He saved me from Joffrey’s unwelcomed advances. He climbed the Wall to return to me. Arya…he wouldn’t just leave me while I’m…”

“Unwed,” her sister said.

That word struck a chill through her. Unwed.

_But I am supposed to wed Ser Patrek Mallister. And he has likely heard of it by now._

“Arya,” she said tremulously. “Everyone in Wintertown knows of my upcoming marriage, don’t they?” Her sister nodded. “Would he…would he leave me without even trying to…”

“I’m not sure.”

She didn’t need to see the sad look in her sister’s eye to know what Arya thought. She knew it. Hadn’t she been hardening her heart to this possible scenario for many moons now? As much as he might love her, he was a wildling and she a lord’s daughter. He could not change that any more than she could.

But he had left Ghost. Surely, that meant something.

 _No. He does not own Ghost. He said Ghost found him south of the Wall. Just because there is a bond between them, doesn’t mean he’d take Ghost with him when he left. Ghost doesn’t cross the Wall with him. And perhaps he meant to leave Ghost as a way to watch over me and remember me from time to time,_ she thought sadly _._

“I think I want to be alone for a little while,” she choked out as the sobs were forming in her chest, squeezing her heart and making it hard to breathe.

“Of course,” Arya said. Before her sister left though, she turned and embraced her unexpectedly. She kissed her cheek and then left her be.

Sansa sat down on her bed. She wanted to believe in him but she was afraid of allowing herself too much hope if it was only going to be dashed.

Ghost was not here. Out hunting…or perhaps he would leave her, too. She laid down on top of her furs and wept.

 

* * *

 

 

The farmer was prosperous as farmers went. Jon had never lived so lavishly beyond the Wall. They could spare a bit for him.

He had been a raider for years now. It did not smite his pride to steal the things he needed. He just had to keep his head if he wished to escape undetected. The night was a thief’s best friend.

Ten minutes work and it was done. Jon had some new clothes off the line, a good-sized tub from the barn and a sack filled with apples. He had to eat after all and he welcomed something besides dried meat and fish for every meal. He’s managed to steal some bread cooling off their window sill three days earlier but it was stale and nearly gone.

He returned to the cottage deep in the woods just as the sun was rising. The more he scouted, the more he was satisfied with this place. No one seemed to pass this way. The dead man that had lived here seemed to have no kin nor friends wishing to call upon him. Jon had burned his body as was his people’s way. No one had been drawn by the smoke. He took that for a good sign.

There was a stream not half a mile from the cottage where fresh water and fish was available. The woods grew thick and wild here though, not ideal for men on horseback.

Dogs. Dogs would be a problem if they were set to track her. Ghost could help with that but it would be best to avoid any detection whatsoever. Jon would have to do his best to cover her scent when he brought her here.

It would be temporary, he knew. They would not be able to hide in the woods indefinitely. Only if they believed she had been carried off further north would they stop searching the Wolfswood. If he could steal a horse long enough to bring her here and then return it without it having been missed, that would be useful. And in time, he could steal another and put distance between them and Winterfell.

He sat by his small cook fire and ate an apple. He pulled out the simple woolen dress he’d stolen. It would fit her well enough though it was nowhere near fine enough for her. Again, he knew a moment’s doubt. She was a lady. Why would she wish to be stolen by him and live in whatever hovels or caves they could make use of until he took her towards White Harbor? That was the plan he’d decided on at last. They would expect a raider to take her north. He would take her southeast towards the sea. Maybe they’d board some ship and sail for Braavos. He wished to see the canals Sansa had told him of. Or perhaps Dorne. He was curious what all that sand and sun that Sansa spoke of would be like.

The dress would do, he decided as his determination returned. She’d have to look like small folk. Her hair could be a problem. He knew of nuts and barks that could darken it but it pained him to suggest it to her. He loved his lady’s fiery red hair that felt like silk in his fingers…or what he imagined silk must feel like. And it was lucky. Would it still be lucky if the red was covered?

 _We will do what we must_.

He had burned the pallet the dead man had laid on and replaced with one he’d made himself. It was serviceable and smelled of fresh hay. It was not a fine mattress stuffed with feathers like he imagined she must sleep on but it was not so bad. He could not sew finely like Sansa but he knew how to make clothes of skins. This was not so different. He’d stolen blankets as well. He meant to keep his lady love warm at night with his body but blankets would be necessary as well.

The thoughts of holding her naked as he had that night in the godswood’s hot springs had him pining. But that would do no good. He still needed to steal her.

 

* * *

 

 

A sennight had passed and Sansa was awoken with news of riders coming up the Kings Road. She sighed and rose to dress.

“My lord husband has arrived,” she said forlornly to her empty chamber. Ghost had not been seen in three days.

Sansa chose her fine grey gown in honor of her house but had meticulously added purple trimming to honor House Mallister. Her future husband and his men might be pleased by such she hoped.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” Robb said as the party entered the great hall and Sansa stood by his side with a smile tacked on her face.

The Mallister men bowed to their host and soon refreshments were offered and the introduction was made. Sansa curtsied to Ser Patrek as her mother tried to ask after his father. He was amiable but somewhat coarse, she decided.

Sansa was grateful that once her groom had had his look at her and been satisfied that she was not displeasing to look upon or obviously disfigured in anyway, Mother had dismissed her to return to her ladies. It was clear that Sansa’s thoughts and opinions would not be sought for the upcoming discussion.

He’d not said a word about her dress. He’d only japed that she was far comelier a maid than he’d ever hoped to wed.  She swallowed her disappointment and thought his eyes kinder than Joffrey's at least.

She sought the godswood instead of returning to her ladies and struggled to hide her tears. No word of Jon had reached Arya’s ears. There had been a few thefts of late in the Wintertown which had some folks talking but thievery was not that unusual. Some said Wildlings might be in the area but those folks were scoffed at. Wildlings would have to be uncommonly brave or foolhardy to raid so close to Winterfell.

Once Sansa reached the Heart Tree, she sat upon the stone where she’d spied her father sitting more than once. Thinking of Father, she remembered why this was necessary. She sang to herself for a time and found it calmed her depressed spirits.

_He will treat me kindly enough. In time, he may come to love me if I give him sons._

She hoped so. Regardless, it was the best a highborn girl betrothed to a stranger could hope for anyway.

She heard a rustling of leaves and her head snapped up with sudden certainty.

“Jon? Are you there?”

No sign of him and she cursed her foolishness. He couldn’t simply stroll into the godswood in the middle of the day.

But then someone could…

“Ghost!” she exclaimed when she spotted his white fur and red eyes emerging from the underbrush. “Where have you been? I’ve not see you in days.”

The wolf said nothing of course but came and put his great head upon her lap. She hugged him and received a lick on the cheek that made her giggle despite the circumstances.

“What is this?” she asked noticing the length of leather around his neck, like a collar. “Has some fool tried to make you their pet?”

She ran her hand along the leather to untie it but at the tie there was something attached…a small scrap of parchment.

Her heart thudded in her chest and she would think another person could hear it if they were standing beside her. Filled with a dawning certainty, she carefully removed the note and told herself to keep calm. The large, blockish letters like a child might write revealed only one word.

**FEEST**

“What is feest?” she asked the direwolf. Her brow was furrowed as she repeated it until intuition flashed. “Feast! He means feast. But what about a…OH!”

There was a welcoming feast planned for tomorrow night. Other lords and ladies of the North had already started to arrive to see Lady Sansa Stark marry the heir of House Mallister. If there were no issues or objections between them, the couple would marry in two days and the same guests would be treated to another feast. There would be dancing and singing and merry-making.

 _And many people coming and going through the gates…just like when King Robert was her_ e.

Sansa laughed and hugged Ghost again. He hadn’t left her. He was just making use of a good opportunity to come to her again.

However, her smile faded as the question presented itself.

_But where will we go?_

 

* * *

 

 

Jon glanced up at the stars and smiled. The Thief was within the Moonmaid. That was lucky for him. The best time to steal a woman according to the Freefolk.

It would be a long wait. He’d have to be in place before the hustle and bustle of the morning began and then he’d be left to wait longer until the next night fell so he could creep out of hiding. He’d brought some dried meat and the last apple along with a small flask filled with water he’d found at his new home. He wished he had something stronger to help him sleep in the uncomfortable accommodations he would be facing.

_No, you must keep your wits about you. It’s best if you’re not drunk._

Jon had waited until night had fallen to creep back towards the tavern where the wagon bearing the barrels of cider and ale sat waiting to be ferried up to Winterfell for the feast tomorrow night.

Gathering information while remaining hidden and without Arya’s help had been difficult but he was good at sneaking and listening at windows.  He’d learned enough to find himself a way in that should avoid him being noticed. Leaving with her would be the hard part but he had the dress for her to change into and he had a plan and three contingency plans in mind.

He chose a good-sized barrel and scooted it to the edge of the wagon to drain it. The tools he’d stolen from Dace would come in handy. He would move it towards the center of its fellows before he climbed inside.

He had to swallow his fears again at the thought of that dark confined space.

_Worse than the crypts._

But when he thought of her, he found it was not so difficult to do at all.

_For Sansa. I do this to save my lady…and to steal her._

 

* * *

 

 

All evening she’d kept watch, her eyes looking this way and that, desperate to catch a glimpse of him.

She’d expected him to appear just as he had at the feast for King Robert, as a serving man bearing a tray of roasted meat right in front of her. But she’d not seen him once. She looked amongst the small folk that had come to the celebration and there was no sign of him. She even searched for his face among the knights and retainers from the other lords and ladies present to see if he’d joined someone else’s travel party as he had Lord Karstark’s last time.

Nothing. He was not here.

 _He’ll come_ , she told herself.

But as the night wore on and as Sansa endured yet another dance with Ser Patrek, whose hands kept wandering past propriety with the more he drank, she worried. What if something had happened to prevent him coming?

Ser Patrek was laughing, merry and without a care as his hands settled on her bottom. He pulled her flush against him and told her she would love Seagard and the Cape of Eagles. She could feel his stiff manhood and was assaulted by the reek of ale on his breath. She flushed and was glad for the moment that Jon was not here.

_He’d kill you for touching me like this._

“You are very beautiful, my lady,” Ser Patrek said. “I worried when my father said you’d accepted me that you might not be. Why would Lord Stark’s daughter, the Warden of the North, choose me, I wondered.” He laughed to himself and touched her hair. “Pretty red hair, too. I’ve always been fond of Tullys and their red hair.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she replied with as much courtesy as she could muster. “But if you will forgive me…I believe I will retire soon. The feast and dancing has quite worn me out.”

“Oh, well…allow me to escort you to your chambers lest some rogue seek to trifle with my intended.”

Before Sansa could answer, another voice spoke. “That won’t be necessary, Ser. I’ll see my sister to her chambers.”

Sansa exhaled in relief to see Robb by her side. She curtsied to Ser Patrek and allowed Robb to escort her away, feigning mild disappointment for the benefit of her betrothed.

“I’m so sorry, Sansa,” Robb said when they were out of the hall. “He’s not what I would…”

“It’s alright, Robb,” she said, squeezing his arm. “We must think of Father.”

“Sansa, I wish that I could…”

She hugged him, dismissing his guilt while feeling her own. She felt concern over the fact that Jon had not appeared and guilt over the knowledge she was hiding from her brother.

Robb saw her to her chamber door and asked if she felt in need of a guard with Ser Patrek in his cups. She declined saying he would be her husband soon enough and surely he could find company if he was in need tonight without insulting his hosts and defiling his bride.

She closed the chamber door and, despite her assurances to Robb, bolted the door.

“My lady,” a familiar voice said from within.

She gasped and spun on her heel to find Jon emerging from the shadows. He was filthy but smiling. She raced to his arms and embraced him, kissing him and stifling her laughter.

“I thought you’d appear at the feast! How did you get to my chambers? Oh, never mind that! What are we going to do?”

Jon held up a single blue rose from the glass garden and smiled mischievously.

“Do you know the tale of Bael the Bard, my lady?”

 

 


	9. A Cottage in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon steals Sansa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?! She updated this one again?! Yeah, I was anxious for them to bang. I'll get around to my other WIPs soon enough.

 

She heard dogs barking as the horse trotted past Wintertown. Her arms tightened around Jon’s waist. He only chuckled and patted her hand reassuringly. She didn’t know how he managed to stay so calm.

The moon was nearly full and Sansa felt like all the world could see them. But what would they see? Just a couple of smallfolk on a nag. A woman in a brown homespun dress with a shawl over her head and a man in black breeches and an old, torn tunic and leather vest.

Sansa buried her face in his neck and told her heart to slow down and trust him. He had come for her and he was carrying her away.

_Stealing me. He said he’d come to steal me._

She breathed in the musk and sweat and odor of hard cider than clung to him and was comforted. Sansa was no great rider but clinging to Jon she felt safe and the mare moved at a steady, easy pace.

“What about Ghost?” she asked as they made a turn towards the Wolfswood. Ghost had led them through the corridors of Winterfell, being their eyes in advance, until they exited the keep. The great white direwolf had not followed.

“He’ll find us before long. He’ll be in need of a hunt tonight, I think.”

“Are we going to the Wall?”

“No, wife. Somewhere far closer.”

She grinned at that word. “Wife, am I? We’ve not wed.”

“But I stole you,” he protested.

“And that’s all there is to it?” she asked.

“Aye…well, more or less.”

He said no more of their destination so Sansa decided to be surprised even as anxiety gnawed at her tummy.

“Where’d you get this horse?” she finally asked a bit later on.

“From someone who’s enjoying too much ale tonight. I’ll lead her back before sunrise. He won’t even miss her.”

He’d led her by the hand down through the castle gates. The guards had been busy enjoying a bit of ale and quiet laughter amongst themselves. Other small folk had been present at the feast. They were just another couple heading back home. Fat Tom had smiled at them both though he’d not recognized Lady Sansa with her hair covered and in the plain brown dress. Jon had given him an affably greeting and the guards took no real note of him, she could tell.

“Just another kneeler who pays little attention to what’s under their noses,” Jon had snickered under his breath.

Sansa had felt sorry for them though. If Robb learned that they had allowed her to walk off through the gates…

_No, Robb would not do anything to them. Our father has taught us all mercy._

Afterwards, he’d had Sansa sit beside a tree just before they reached Wintertown. She waited a very short time before he’d returned with the horse.

The night wore on and Sansa grew tired as they rode. She laid her head upon his back and let the sway of the horse lull her to slumber.

She woke when the horse stopped. All around it was dark. Deep in the woods, the trees blocked out much of the moonlight but as her eyes adjusted, she could make out shapes. Before her stood a hut…or small cottage. She blinked and smiled. It was like something from a story. A cottage in the woods where the lovers could hide away. She remembered lamenting the absence of such a thing not so long ago but here it was.

 _The gods want us together_ , she fancied. _It will be our little refuge from the world._

Jon seemed to hear her thoughts. “We should be safe enough for a time, my lady. But we cannot stay for long. Soon we will move on but for now…it’s a place for me and you that isn’t a cave.”

She smiled more fully, overcome with joy that he had not only returned to her but he’d gotten her away. He’d saved her from marrying Ser Patrek. Recalling the sad girl she’d been a few days ago, she could almost laugh.

“Come,” he beckoned, sliding off the horse and putting his hands on her hips. “My lady’s castle awaits.” She let him help her down and lead her to the door. “It’s just a hut. Not near fine enough for you, sweet Sansa.”

“We’ll be happy here,” she vowed.

It was small. A hearth, a roughhewn table and two chairs, a pallet in the corner was the extent of it. Jon knelt and she heard the strike of a flint. Warmth and light filled the room quickly as the fire took off.

There was a small cask on the table and some cloth.  He had a sack he'd carried with him from Winterfell.  He emptied out a few tools and a large slice of ham. 

In the corner, a large tub sat, large enough for her to sit in with her legs crossed. It was filled with water.

“In case you, uh…wanted to wash later,” he said bashfully. He pulled something from his pocket. “Here…I took a bit of your soap from you chambers while I waited for you.”

She took it from him and smiled. It was thoughtful of him. “Thank you, Jon.”

“I like the way you smell, my lady,” he mumbled before scratching at his beard. “I’ve got to return the horse. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

Her jaw dropped. He meant to leave already. Sansa did not want him to go.

“Jon!” she cried before he walked out the door.

He pulled her into his arms and they embraced. She took comfort from the way he held her. He brushed her hair back out of her face and kissed her once, just a chaste kiss, a promise.

“It’s alright,” he said gently as she let a tear or two escape. “I’ll be back. I’ll be back as soon as I can, my lady. I’ll bring more food and…then, we’ll be together.”

She nodded and bit her lip. He had to go if the horse was not to be missed. She wished Ghost were here with her. She sat down on the pallet as he closed the door. The wool covering it was soft enough but it was a bit lumpy.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. _Would you rather share a straw pallet with Jon or a feather bed with Ser Patrek?_

She laid down contentedly, pulling a blanket over her and trying to get some rest as she resigned herself to waiting a little longer. Perhaps she could come to terms with her nervousness in the interim.

 

* * *

 

 

He was sore and tired. He would’ve liked to lay down as soon as they’d reached the hut and sleep. But the mare needed to be returned and he could possibly learn if Sansa’s absence had been discovered earlier than expected. With luck, she would not be missed until well after sunrise after a feast.

Jon sucked in the fresh, crisp night air, grateful to be free of the barrel. He’d rather cut his own throat than be caged again like that. He shuddered to recall the dark, cramped space. But it was worth it now.

Dace’s tools had helped him escape the barrel. He’d taken a battering when it was unloaded from the wagon and rolled for what seemed like miles but was likely a couple of dozen yards. He’d known a moment’s terror when another barrel had been set atop his but after some arguments from the serving men, it’d been lifted again.

He’d reached out to Ghost in his mind. The wolf had provided enough of a distraction in the kennels to allow Jon time to escape his barrel and slink to the keep. The dogs would always set up a racket as soon as the wolf came into view and would not shut up until the men had bellowed themselves hoarse.

Before entering the keep, he’d spied the glass gardens. Sansa had told him of them but he’d never seen them. He’d recalled the tale of Bael and thought he’d have a look. Sure enough, a lovely blue rose was growing among all the other green and plentiful things that grew there. He’d looked at all those edible things just waiting for servants to pluck them and the occupants of the castle to eat.

_Mance would never believe it. Yes, he would. He knows Winterfell. The others though, Tormund and Ygritte…they’d never believe all these people have just waiting for them._

Most days were a struggle to survive and put food in one’s belly north of the Wall. He’d pushed aside his resentment though and plucked his rose. Reaching her chambers during a feast was far easier than he would’ve believed…if he’d not done it once already many moons ago.

He’d scouted out the farrier’s shed and hovel in Wintertown days earlier. The man was lonely and drank at night, singing songs of woe to himself. The nag was his horse and Jon was only borrowing it. He’d let the poor man have her back. They’d need something younger and faster to carry them both to White Harbor and it’d be foolish for it to be known a horse had been stolen the same night Lord Stark’s daughter had gone missing.

Once the task was done and he’d seen no signs of any unusual disturbance, he hummed a tune about the giants under his breath as he walked back towards the woods. His lady awaited and he had not fully made her his wife yet. His manhood grew hard at the thought of what all that may mean tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa had drifted off but woke when the door opened. She yelped and scrambled into an upright position, shielding herself with the blanket.

“It’s just me,” he said softly. He was carrying another sack. He set it down as she sprang to her feet.

“Jon…oh, Jon,” she sighed and went to him, longing to be held once more. He held her to him for just a moment, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She whimpered in need for him…for something.

“I’m here, Sansa,” he said, his voice thick as he pulled back and looked at her.

He was sweaty from his walk despite the coolness of the night. His eyes were nearly obsidian in the firelight as he stared at her. His hands at her waist were firm and warm. She could feel them burning her through the dress and her shift.

“Sansa,” he rasped.

It was not a statement. It was more like a plea.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He kissed her then, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers with a fierce desperation. She felt his tongue graze her lips. She parted them, bidding him to enter. His breath was stale from hunger no doubt. He should eat. Perhaps they shouldn’t do this yet. She did not care though. Who could care about food and what was proper when she was being kissed like this by her beloved?

He broke the kiss first, his chest heaving as her own was.

“Sansa…I want to make you happy. My people…we don’t have weddings like your people do. A man steals a woman and they…”

“Yes, I know how it goes,” she blushed.

“But I would wed you beneath a heart tree if you prefer.”

“We’re already well away from Winterfell. We cannot return,” she said.

“No, not there. The Children made your heart tree but men have made others. In the North…we carve faces into any old tree when we need to seek the gods.”

Sansa wondered if it could be that simple. “It’s dark now,” she said. “We could wed in the morning…after…” she said letting that word linger.

“Did you wish to wash?” he asked, eyeing the untouched tub filled with water.

“I will after,” she said.

He gulped. She would not refuse him. “Do you want me to wash first?” he asked. Despite the fire he’d built earlier, he was visibly trembling. She felt the same.

“After,” she repeated.

She pulled the simple dress over her head in one fluid movement. She took down her hair and combed her fingers through it. His eyes widened in wonder as he beheld her. A hint of a smile curled one corner of his mouth. He’d seen her completely bare that night in the godswood but standing in the firelight in just her shift she felt bashful all over again.

“You’re beautiful, my lady,” he said in a husky tone.

“Ser Patrek said something similar tonight,” she answered, wondering how he’d take that. Jon growled, a feral, possessive look on his face that made her quiver in anticipation. “It didn’t make me feel beautiful. But when you say it…I know it’s true,” she finished.

The tension from a moment earlier left him and he grinned. He pulled off his vest and shirt.

“Can we…” He trailed off and scowled. “Sorry…I want to use a proper term.” Sansa wondered what improper term he’d been about to say. “Can I love you now?” His eyes flicked towards the pallet. “Beneath the blanket? May I…lie with you?”

“Yes,” she said and let her shift join the dress on the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Her flesh was just as creamy and perfect as he recalled from their night in the godswood over a moon ago. It was better here truly as he could see her better in the firelight. And the fire, how it danced and reflected in her auburn tresses.

She wore a dainty white scrap of cloth over her womanhood. It was enticing, knowing what was barely hidden from view now. He wondered how frightened she would be if he tore it off her. He would not though. She was a maid and he would do his best to remember it.

Not so long ago, he’d suffered through another one of Tormund’s stories about his prowess with women…and bears. Ygritte would always smirk at him when Tormund would be rambling on. She’d sit beside him and put her hand on his leg, stroking up and down until he bade her to stop while hoping that he’d finally give in and take her beneath her furs.

Tormund would laugh at Jon’s embarrassment but there was something abut the big man and his stories that wound up making Jon laugh as well in the end.

He’d spoke of making a woman’s cunt wet before fucking her. _“Your cock doesn’t go near her till she’s slick as a baby seal.”_

Sansa had been in the water when they’d loved that night in the godswood. They were both slick. He suspected that was not what Tormund meant.

And he’d not fucked her that night. She’d been frightened at the thought of it then and he’d reassured her that he would wait. But now they were to wed and she’d agreed to being bedded. He wished he’d paid closer attention to Tormund.

_“Don’t jam it in like you’re spearing a pig…go slow.”_

Even as inexperienced as he was, he could figure out that jamming would not be welcome.

But Sansa standing before him naked in the firelight was doing things to him and it was hard to just stand there. So, he kissed her again.

Sweet and tart was her tongue…like her lemon cakes. She moaned into his mouth and his cock throbbed with need. He glided his hands along her smooth shoulders and dipped his head down to her chest. She’d liked this that night in the godswood, he remembered as he captured a nipple in his mouth.

Her fingers clutched at his curls and she swayed into him as he laved one pink tit with his tongue and then the other, teasing them into tight buds. He walked her back towards the pallet.

“Lie down, my love,” he urged.

She stretched back across the blanket with her fiery hair spread out beneath her. Her lips were stained a darker shade from their kisses. Her nipples were puckered from his attentions.

He quickly took off his breeches, letting his cock spring free at last. Sansa’s eyes widened but she did not seem terribly frightened.

“My smallclothes,” she said, indicating the cloth still covering her.

He helped her pull them off and groaned to see the fire-kissed curls of her mound. He wondered what it would be like to bury his nose in them just as he liked doing to the hair on her head. Did men do such things?

He climbed atop her, kissing her slow and deep. Her legs were locked together beneath him at first but he could feel her relaxing as they continued kissing. He carded a hand through her silky hair and nuzzled into the side of her face.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, Jon.”

One hand glided down her pale belly and explored her soft, springy curls. A finger moved further down and traced her folds. The palm of his hand cupped her sex and she moaned. He slipped his finger inside her and she gasped and bucked into his hand.

“Is that good?” he asked.

She nodded and he sucked on her neck under her earlobe and fingered her cunt some more. When he pulled his finger away, it was wet and he supposed that meant she was ready.

“Sansa…can I put it...in you now?”

Her eyes were big as saucers but she nodded and spread her legs, allowing him to settle between them. He grasped one thigh and pulled it up around his hip before taking his cock in hand to guide it to her entrance. She was biting her lip, looking down between them and watching. They both were.

When he was centered, he pushed forward. The heat of her and the tightness around his cock was overwhelming. He whimpered and felt light-headed like he’d drank all the cider in his barrel earlier.

It felt so good. He could not think clearly. He snapped his hips and thrusted the rest of the way in. He wouldn’t have called it jamming exactly but from the way she winced, he knew she probably would.

“Gods…I’m sorry,” he said, kissing away the tear that leaked from the corner of an eye.

“Be still a moment,” she said in a strained voice.  She clutched his shoulders and her breathing slowed. She looked up at him and smiled uncertainly. “Go on now…but go slow.”

He nodded and started moving, painfully slow at first and then picking up his pace as she seemed to be adjusting to the invasion. He came to the realization that his hand was no match for the tight, wet heat of Sansa’s cunt and this would not last long. He lost his rhythm and was grunting with every thrust as Sansa peppered his jaw with kisses and whispered that she loved him.

He was rutting like an animal and he knew he lacked any prowess whatsoever when he shuddered and spilled his seed after no more than two dozen thrusts.

“I’ll get better at it,” he promised when he was panting and shivering on top of her. “I mean…if you’ll let me.”

She laughed softly and kissed his brow. “It’s alright. It wasn’t so bad.”

“But it wasn’t so good either,” he said with a grimace. She shook her head with an apologetic look. She had nothing to be sorry about. “I’ll get better at it. I’ll make it good for you, too,” he swore.

“I believe you,” she said before they kissed slow and sweet.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon had placed the tub of water by the fire and it was warm when Sansa sank down into it. It was soothing to the soreness between her legs. There’d been no more than a trace of blood along with his seed. He’d wiped his manhood off and put his breeches back on before setting some food out on the table, two apples and the ham, along with a loaf of bread.  The small cask was some cider like she'd tasted at the feast earlier.

He sat there watching her bathe with a besotted look and she smiled to herself. It had not been glorious like a song but it was not as awful as she’d heard other girls whispering. And he’d been so sweet. The look on his face as he peaked had been worth the sting and pinch from losing her maidenhead. She believed him about it getting better. She looked forward to trying again…just not tonight.

After she had washed and put the brown dress back on, he fed her bites of apple as he sliced it with his knife. They held hands and exchanged kisses between sips of cider. This was more like what she’d pictured in her daydreams. Their cottage in the woods with lovely moments together.

They climbed into bed afterwards to sleep. Jon had stripped down to nothing. He’d said the fire was hot and she supposed it was warm in here to a man who’d slept beneath the stars most of the time. She left her shift on and enjoyed the pleasure of being held in his strong arms. He nuzzled his nose into her hair and told her dear, sweet things.

Sansa fell asleep happily, not worrying about their precarious situation for the moment.

She awoke to find herself alone and panicked.

“Jon?” she called. “Jon!” she cried louder.

The door opened and he strode in, fully dressed and smiling. “Ah, you’re awake, wife. I’ve caught a fine fish to break our fast but first…” He held out his hand and pulled her from the pallet. “Get dressed. We’ve something to do.”

He led her through the woods to a lovely stream where he’d likely caught the fish. The blueish light before dawn surrounded them with a bit of fog gathering in the trees. It was peaceful and Sansa could almost pretend they’d run far away to an island where only they existed.

“Are you ready, my lady?” he asked.

She glanced over at him puzzled until she noticed what he was pointing towards. A tall sentinel stood by the streams edge and it bore a face, newly carved. Sap trickled from the eyes. Its mouth was half a smile. She grinned at him and he helped her to kneel.

“What words do you say in the South?” he asked.

“Well…”

She thought of what a wedding in front of the heart tree at Winterfell might be like. She’d mostly followed the Seven. But she knew enough. And when she thought of the fact that her father would not be giving her away and her mother and brothers and sister would not be there to watch, she felt like crying.

_That will not do, Sansa._

Jon had snuck out early to do this…to please her. She would be brave for him and not cry like a spoiled princess. She had chosen him as surely as he had stolen her. She would not be sad.

“Let us do it our own way, Jon.”

He nodded and seemed to be thinking for a minute or so. He grasped her hand and pulled it to his heart.

“I swear before the gods to love you as I take you for my wife, Sansa. I swear to protect you with my life. I swear to see you fed and sheltered as best I can for as long as I live. I swear to share my furs with no other woman and honor you.”

He grinned sheepishly when it was done as though he hoped it was good enough. It was a rather fine speech, she thought.

“I swear before the gods to love you as my husband, Jon. I swear to comfort you and care for you all of my days. I swear to be a good wife and share my furs with no other man and honor you. I swear it from this day until my last day.”

She felt short of breath when it was done. For all its informality, she was aware of the momentousness of the occasion.

Jon kissed her tenderly before he rose and helped her to her feet. “Come, wife. Let’s go back home.”

“Yes…take me to our, home,” she replied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you'll cut Wildling Jon some slack for his inexperience. He'll be working hard next chapter to get better at it and please Sansa, too. After all, he didn't go down on Ygritte their first time in the books...lol. And we'll also see what some of the reactions are back in Winterfell to a missing Sansa and the blue rose in her bed.


	10. Stolen?

 

Arya woke to the baying of hounds. She covered her ears wishing to sleep longer after staying up late at the welcoming feast. A knock at her chamber door rapped out sharply.

“Yes!” she cried testily.

Septa Mordane came in, an unexpected visitor this early, and Arya sat up. She snatched up one of Arya’s dresses without so much as a by-your-leave and told her to make herself presentable then go to her lady mother at once.

“Why?” she grumbled as the septa threw open the shutters, allowing more light in and intensifying the sound of the dogs.

“Your sister has gone missing, that’s why!” the septa replied briskly. “Hurry, child. The castle is tearing itself apart and your mother is waiting.”

“Sansa has gone missing?” Arya repeated dumbly but the septa was already hurrying away again.

She rubbed at her eyes and dashed from the bed, throwing on the dress the septa had set out and splashing her face with water. She glanced at her hair brush and pondered using it for a moment but then decided her mother was waiting and scurried out the door.

But as she raced down the corridor towards her mother’s solar, she slowed her steps.

_What if Sansa has left with Jon? What do I tell?  What do I not tell?_

Arya chewed at her lip and decided she would need something in her belly before she faced her mother. If a lie was called for, it might be more difficult to manage on an empty stomach.

She stole into the kitchens where Gage was holding court; telling all the cooks, scullery maids and other servants gathered there about the single blue rose plucked from the glass gardens and left lying in Lady Sansa’s bed.

“Not even slept in,” Gage was saying. “The furs all drawn up, neat as anything with a blue rose lying on top of the black fur.”

“When was Lady Sansa last scene then?” Palla asked.

“When Lord Robb took her to her chambers last night to keep that Mallister from getting any notions before the wedding.”

“But Lord Robb didn’t see nothing?”

“Of course not! If Lord Robb had seen something, you think he would’ve just went on about his business?” Arya grasped a bun fresh from the oven and Gage spied her. “Milady,” he said courteously and they all turned and bowed, giving her sympathetic looks.

 _They all think Sansa has been stolen and is in danger_.

But the more Arya thought about it, the more convinced she became that Sansa had fled with Jon. The blue rose reminded her a tale she’d heard before about some wildling King Beyond the Wall who’d stolen a Stark maiden. Sansa would fancy that. She could almost picture Sansa suggesting the rose to Jon. But then maybe that story was known amongst his people as well.

Arya gave them a brave smile but made sure to let her chin wobble just a bit. Gage went to pass her another bun but one of the other cooks snatched it to coat it with honey first before passing it over.

“I have to see my lady mother,” she said solemnly…just before she stuffed the bun into her mouth. “I was just hungry,” she said in a muffled voice. More bows and sympathetic nods. “May I have a bit of milk, please?”

A few minutes later, her stomach thoroughly sated, Arya made her way to her mother’s chambers. She was not surprised to see her mother looking sad and holding the blue rose. It hurt for Mother to be sad. She wished there was a way to reassure her that Sansa was more than likely perfectly safe without giving anything away. However, Arya was caught off guard by the piercing look her mother gave her when she noticed her arrival. Maester Luwin sat by her side.

“Arya,” Mother said, “take a seat. We should like to ask you some questions.”

 

* * *

 

 

Robb held his aching head. He was surrounded by his father’s bannermen and the Mallister party. The visiting lords and knights who had come to see a wedding were now to form a search party. It had already been a very long day and he’d not been up two hours yet.

Sansa’s maid had discovered her absence a little after dawn. At first, she’d thought the blue rose was something Sansa had done given her lady’s love of tales and romantic gestures. But when she could not find his sister and realized Sansa’s bed had not been slept in, she’d sought out a guard.

Robb had been woken soon after. He was nursing a pounding headache from all the ale he’d consumed at the feast the night before in an attempt to assuage his guilt over his sister having to marry such a boorish man, one who was clearly unworthy of her.

A thorough scouring of the castle, godswood and crypts had already taken place. The guards and servants had all been questioned but Sansa had not been found. There were signs that someone had been in the crypts for an extended period of late and one of the servants recalled seeing Sansa going down there with the direwolf but that had been well over a moon ago.

_Ghost…where is Ghost?_

The direwolf’s absence could mean nothing…or it could mean everything. How did she come to know the beast? Jory had said he was sure she was already dead when he rode towards her and the wolf that day in the woods. But she had shielded the monster with her own body and pled with Jory and then Father for it’s life. Why would she do that for such a fearsome creature? Ever since then it had followed her about like a lap dog but it was no pet.

Ser Patrek had just claimed the floor again to drone on and on about the North and how savage and uncivilized it was. No ladies had ever been snatched from their beds at Seagard, he was sure to let everyone know.

“What good is that wall of yours if the wildlings are able to scale it and make off with our women?” he asked as if Robb had invited them over or built the Wall himself and done a shoddy job of it.

“The Wall is over 600 miles away,” Theon said, rolling his eyes at the incensed bridegroom. “If it was a wildling, they cannot possibly be that far away yet. We’ll catch the bastard well before he takes Sansa far and make him sorry he ever came this far south.”

“It may not be a wildling,” Ser Roderick said sagely. “Could be some other man using the tale of Bael to throw us off his track.”

Robb bit his tongue and did not argue with the old knight who had taught him so much. But he disagreed. He believed deep in his heart that the same people who had killed his little brother all those years ago now had his sweet sister.

“Or perhaps Lady Sansa had a change of heart about marrying some Southroner,” Hellman Tallheart said sourly. Robb could’ve strangled him for that though he knew he’d taken the rejection of his suit hard.

“What are you suggesting, ser?” Mallister bristled, striding over to stand in front of Tallheart. “Are you prepared to back those words up in the yard? Do you imagine I’ll stand here and be insulted by…”

“Enough!” Robb said wearily. “Enough from the both of you. Hellman, go and seek the kennel master and see if the hounds are ready. Ser Roderick, will you please see if Harwin has the horses ready?” He waited until Ser Roderick and Tallheart left the room and then continued, “Ser Patrek, I’m sure my sister has been abducted. If she had any objections to the match, she would have spoken to my mother or myself. She would not have just left. But as to who has done this, I cannot say. However, our priority is to see her safely returned to Winterfell…and to you.”

“Yes…but will she be untouched?” Mallister grumbled and now it was Robb who bristled.

“I want my sister back, Ser! Alive and preferably unharmed but I want her back nonetheless,” Robb rasped sharply. How dare the man make her virtue a condition at such a time? “We will ride out with the hounds and hunt all day. A dozen guards have been sent to the Wintertown to see if any information can be found there. Twenty men will travel the Kings Road north and twenty south in case her abductor is that foolish. Maester Luwin will send ravens to every keep in the North and to Castle Black. The rest of us will search nearby keeps and holdfasts for any word…and the Wolfswood but it is likely they will be headed north,” he said more courteously after Mallister had lowered his eyes.

The lords and knights all nodded in agreement.

“My lord,” Roose Bolton said as the others began to move off. “If you believe she has been taken north towards the Wall, I can send a raven to my bastard Ramsay at the Dreadfort. He could gather his men and hounds in an hour and work his way southward towards your party. He is skilled at tracking and his hounds are renowned for their success in a hunt.”

“They would not have Sansa’s scent.”

“No, but you would be surprised at how successful Ramsay and his… _methods_ can be.”

Robb looked into those cold eyes that were like chips of dirty ice and had to suppress a shiver. He had heard rumors about Ramsay Snow, his hounds and his hunts.

“Thank you, Lord Bolton. I will consider what you have suggested but for now I believe Farlen and his dogs will do. Forgive me, I need to write to my father in Kings Landing and tell him of what has happened.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Alone at last, Robb sat in his father’s solar and pulled out ink and parchment. Men were waiting on him and he had a letter to write. He knew not where to begin and felt very much like a boy instead of a man grown at present. He wished his father were here to take away this burden. A small part of him even wished he could pass it off to his mother. But when he thought of his dear sister, at the mercy of some wildling and likely terrified and possibly raped, he dismissed his childishness and wrote his letter.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Ohhh_ …Jon,” she cried out, sounding most unladylike she feared. _Of course, I sound unladylike. There is nothing remotely ladylike about any of this._ But her grip on his curls tightened as she shamelessly bucked her hips.

“I think you like this, my lady,” came the muffled voice from between her legs. He was being too saucy by half if his eyes were anything go by, but Sansa couldn’t say she cared as she writhed atop the blanket on their pallet.

“Stop talking,” she commanded. He would lose his rhythm when he spoke and she wanted him to keep it going…very much.

He chuckled causing her to scowl at him. But once he returned to lapping at her womanhood, teasing her little bud with his tongue, and those indecent slurping noises grew louder, Sansa threw her head back and wantonly begged for more. He moaned in response, humming right into her core. Her thighs clenched around his ears and she arched her back. He swept her legs over his shoulders.

“Play with your teats,” he murmured before he lowered his head again.

Her cheeks grew warm but she did as he said, enjoying the hungry look in his eyes as he watched her. The pleasure he brought her with his tongue, lips and fingers was intensified as she teased her nipples. She drew closer to that wonderous sensation he’d brought her that night in the godswood with his thigh between her legs as he suckled her breasts.

Her tummy tightened up, almost painfully, a clenching need. Her skin was flushed, the sounds of his mouth upon her pushed her farther along until she reached that precipice and fell with a cry.

“ _Unnn_ …Jon!”

That same blissful breaking apart overwhelmed her and she shuddered. Her toes curled and she gripped his hair mercilessly as she lost all sense of time and place for the space of several seconds.

Afterwards, she laid there breathing hard as though she’d just been galloping on horseback all day. Her skin was glistening with sweat and Jon’s mouth glistened as well. He climbed up her body, half-heartedly swiping at his mouth before he laid down beside her, drawing her into his arms. He kissed her, sweet and slow. She could taste her musky arousal on his tongue.

It was well past the break of day and she knew that her absence had likely been discovered hours ago.  Guilt gnawed at her, thinking of her mother and her brothers and what they might fear.  She hoped Arya at least suspected the truth.  It hurt to think of them worrying over her. 

So, when Jon had started kissing her sweetly as she wept over their meager breakfast, she'd allowed the kisses to continue.  Then, she'd shed her gown and tugged him towards their pallet.  It was easier to lose herself in this passion, in her lover's arms than face the harsh realities of their actions in the cold light of morning.  

_Not just my lover.  My husband._

And, regardless of the pain it might bring, she could never willingly leave him now.

“What was that?” she asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” he said shyly.  “I just knew I wanted to kiss you down there.  You liked it though?”

“I liked it very much,” she said, blushing scarlet but wanting him to know all the same.

He kissed her again, deeper and more hungrily.  “Sansa?” he asked, a feral but pleading note in his tone.  

She nodded and rolled to her back. He scrambled atop of her and kissed her some more before he centered himself and pushed forward. She gasped to feel him fill her after the pleasure he had brought her a little while ago. It was so sweet. This was the fourth time they had done this now and each time had been better. She had not peaked with him inside her yet but then she didn’t truly expect to. What he had done a few minutes ago had been so pleasing, she would not be greedy.

He groaned and closed his eyes with a dazed smile playing on his mouth. She leaned up to kiss him. She loved kissing him. She especially loved it when he had his tongue in her mouth while his length was within her.

“I think you like this,” she teased, as he found his rhythm.

“Aye,” he said shortly.

She held onto his strong shoulders. She loved the feel of his smooth skin and the iron of his muscles underneath. She smirked as he stared at her breasts as they bounced with each thrust and licked his lips. He was already sweating and grunting. It never took very long once he reached that point. It pleased her that he should be the one to lose control now.

But it would not just be him this time.

She shifted under him and he dragged one of her thighs to wrap it around his waist. Suddenly, he was deeper inside and pressing against her just as his tongue had done. The feeling was so much more intense than usual. A moan escaped unbidden as he swiped a nipple with his tongue, steadily pounding into her.

“Your cunt is so fucking wet,” he panted. “Gods, you feel so good gripping my cock just like you were gripping my hair earlier. I never want to leave your body, wife.”

“Jon…” she gasped, shocked as that delicious sensation began to unfurl again. Her eyes widened. “I, uh…oh, gods…”

He grinned and asked, “Does it feel good to you, too? Fuck, I want to watch you come apart on my cock, my lady.”

He looked desperate to make her do just that but his jaw was clenched. He’d spill soon. Sansa did not want him to spill before she reached her peak again.

“Don’t stop…keep going,” she urged.

He bit his lip and slammed into her harder. She could hear the wet slapping of flesh on flesh and him moving within her. It was positively savage and yet she loved it. His face began to contort with ecstasy from his release just as she found her own. Their unintelligible cries and guttural moans filled their little cottage in the woods. Sansa nearly slapped her hand over her mouth for making such dreadfully scandalous noises. But she didn’t cover her mouth. She sang out his name as he roared hers.

She clung to him weakly as they drifted back to reality. Her loins ached but she thought it was a pleasing sort of ache. Soft, brief pecks on lips and cheeks followed and they were busily touching each other’s faces and hair. They drew back and giggled like children at one another when they were finished catching their breath.

“Come, wife,” Jon said rising from the pallet and helping her up. He passed her a cloth to wipe his seed from between her thighs. “Let’s get you water for your bath and then I’ll see to our supper.”

“You needn’t fetch water for the tub. It’s warm out. We can bath in the stream.”

“Are you fond of bathing naked out of doors now, my lady?” he asked teasingly.

“I am with you,” she laughed, surprised at herself to admit it.

After they had bathed in the stream and he'd loved her again in the cool, rushing water, Jon had prepared some fish. They shared the last of their bread and cider and he told her he would have to go for a few hours. She did not want him to leave her alone again and begged to come, too.

“No,” he said with a finality that frustrated her. “I will move more quickly without you.  And you'd make too much noise.” She jerked her chin away, displeased. “Sansa…I do not like leaving you here alone. But, I will return around moonrise and hopefully will bring us some fresh food and any news I may manage to hear.  This is no game we play.  It is dangerous for me to go but more dangerous if you come with me.  Alright?”

“Alright,” she acquiesced. “I will tidy up our home,” she added, feeling pleased at the prospect of taking care of their little cottage.

“My love…we cannot stay long,” he cautioned. She did not like to think of riding away from the hut.  They'd only just arrived last night.  It was as if it had always been here waiting just for them.  But he had warned her more than once already that their stay here was temporary. “Before long, I will steal us a horse and we will ride southeast.”

“To White Harbor?”

“Aye.”

"And then?"

His eyes studied the floor uneasily. 

 _Like a child.  We_ are _children and in over our heads, I fear_.  She dismissed the thought.  What good would it do to fret now when she was going to be alone for hours?

"I'll find work or..." he trailed off before grabbing his satchel and kissing her cheek. "I'll return soon."

“I’ll worry.  Be safe,” she said quietly, brushing his curls back tenderly.

“I’ll call Ghost to us soon. Then, you won’t be alone if I’m hunting or…”

“Stealing.”

“Aye…stealing,” he said with a mischievous wink.

 

* * *

 

 

Mother’s questions had been direct and to the point. They’d also gone on forever. Had she noticed her sister behaving strangely? Had Sansa said anything about Ser Patrek to her? Had she mentioned any other young men? Any strangers?

Arya had drawn upon years of the sisters not always being on the best of terms and feigned utter ignorance. She only expressed her concern over these surprising developments. Her mother seemed to suspect some sort of attachment between Sansa and a village lad. She believed that Sansa might have run off with him. Arya said not a word but was troubled by that. Everyone else thought her stolen but Mother was closer to the mark.

Arya escaped at last and spent her day wandering about the castle, being indulged with treats and being asked for word of her sister. Robb and most of the men were gone until nearer sunset.

She ran to Robb as he rode through the gates anxious for word. He shook his head and patted hers. He told her they’d try again on the morrow before he strode indoors, bellowing for food to be brought to the hall for all the exhausted men.

“Good sister,” Ser Patrek said from behind her.

Arya turned and had to wipe a frown from her face. She did not care for this man and would never wish to see Sansa married to him. She was glad Jon had come for her.

“Yes, Ser Patrek,” she said, mustering all the courtesy she could manage.

“I’m sure you’re very worried about your sister but could you tell me if she’s ever disappeared before?”

“No…”

“I heard a story about her and that monster of hers, the great white wolf. It’s ridiculous that Lord Stark allowed her to keep him. He’d be better as a pelt. He’s far too dangerous to have around people, let alone a young lady.”

“Ghost?” she scowled. “The direwolf is the sigil of our house. Father agreed to let Sansa keep him. What story have you heard?”

“Only that she found him in the woods and they are devoted to each other. I’ve not seen the beast all day. Perhaps he’s killed her and dragged her body off.”

“That’s stupid. Ghost would never harm Sansa. And, the hounds would’ve found her or Ghost if he’d done such a thing. It’s not like the wolf is faster than men on horseback. The hounds know Ghost’s scent well enough,” Arya huffed. “They’re likely half way to the Wall by now.”

“The Wall? So you believe a wildling has definitely taken her?”

“Well…” Arya stalled. She did not mean to let this oaf know anything. He had provoked her into speaking intemperately. “I am only guessing based on what the servants have said. But I am just a girl. Perhaps Joffrey didn’t like her marrying someone else and sent a faceless man to carry her to Kings Landing for him.”

“The faceless men are assassins,” Ser Patrek sneered. “And I doubt His Grace would ever do such thing.”

“Have you ever met, Joffrey?” she asked him.

“No, I have…”

“Then you don’t know him or what he'd do,” Arya said before she turned on her heel.

Just then she saw a flash of white enter the hunter’s gate, his muzzle red from a fresh kill. She raced over to Ghost and knelt before him, scratching his ears and asking him how he did.

“Do you know where they are?” she whispered. “Are they safe? I hope so, Ghost. Will you join them soon?  I wish I could go.  I miss them. I do,” she said when Ghost licked her face. She was ashamed that she was crying. She hoped no one else would see.

 _He’ll lick my tears away,_ she thought as she hugged the direwolf and wondered if she'd ever see her sister again.

She looked over her shoulder to find Ser Patrek had stalked off. But Lord Bolton was watching her, a curious smile on his lips.

“Come on, Ghost. Let’s find some supper,” she said, wanting to get away from that man’s strange eyes.

The wolf gruffed softly.

“Well, I suppose you’ve eaten but I haven’t. Come on.”

 

* * *

 

 

Robb sat by the fire in the hall that night, his eyelids drooping but his mind too busy reeling from his failure and their fruitless search today to allow him to call it a night.

He watched Arya sitting in the floor, her dress filthy as she played with Ghost. Bran and Rickon had already gone to bed. Mother was talking to some of the other lords, her face strained. Ser Patrek had grown drunk and bellicose earlier until one of his men had ushered him off to his bed.

Theon came to sit beside him, pouring him some more ale from a pitcher. “What’s the plan tomorrow?” he asked.

“More of the same, I suppose,” Robb answered, feeling so impotent and angry.

“Every hour could carry her closer to the Wall and farther from any hope of finding her again.”

“I know.”

Arya stood and called Ghost to come with her. He wondered if the beast would sleep in Arya’s chambers while Sansa was gone. Robb watched them go and looked over at this mother. She was still busy.

“Theon?”

“Yes?”

“Tell the guards and Farlen, if the direwolf leaves the castle, I said for them to track him.”

Theon nodded and rose to do his bidding.

 


	11. Travelers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mance heads south. Ned receives news of Sansa's abduction. The lovers spend one last night in their cottage before setting off on their journey towards White Harbor. Catelyn makes some discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on the update! I've had this ready for a bit but needed a little break from posting. It's a long chapter at least to make up for it. Hope you enjoy :)

 

Mance looked over his shoulder at the Wall. It always felt a bit strange when it was north of him. He still had many miles to cover.

He had left Tormund in charge in his stead. The big man might not have his way with the various Free Folk but he was far more suitable that Harma or the Lord o’ Bones.

He could not waste too much time hunting for a wayward man...a deserter. His people needed him as they prepared to invade the South. Many of them were eager for the chance to raid and kill some kneelers but several failed to understand the threat that stalked them. And talking with the Crows about what was coming was likely useless based on the encounters they’d had with Rangers of late.

 _These people won’t except the danger until they stare into its cold blue eyes_.

He’d left Ygritte behind but taken Varamyr with him as well as a few others. He didn’t particularly wish to take Varamyr. He knew of the bad blood between him and Jon but the skin-changer could come in useful. Mance needed all the help he could get.

“Why should we allow him to come back? And what if he won’t come back willingly?” Varamyr had asked the other day.

Mance had shrugged and given no reply. The questions haunted him though. In his heart, he did not know if he could ever kill Jon Snow if it came to it.

 _The lad has a purpose. I’ll make it plain. No more secrets. He’ll come back to u_ s.

But taking a man grown back across the Wall was not the same as a frightened boy of four. He would have to come along willingly or Mance might have to accept that Jon was lost to them.

_Dark of hair and eye, the son of a prince._

Mother Mole’s prophecy of a child who would save the Free Folk stiffened his resolve. Mance would do anything for the sake of his people…except kneel.

 

* * *

 

 

“My lord…two ravens have arrived; one from the Wall and one from Winterfell,” Vayon Poole announced. Ned Stark lifted his head from the scrolls before him. He beckoned Poole forward. “I’m afraid this one’s seal was broken when it was handed to me. An accident in its travels perhaps,” he added sardonically.

Jory rolled his eyes and Ned sighed.

_This nest of vipers and spies. There are no secrets here and no one a man can trust. The court of a mad boy with nothing but self-interested, bootlickers as his advisors. What is to become of this country?_

He longed to return home to the North, to his Lady Catelyn and to his children. He wanted to take the burden of lordship off Robb’s shoulders for a little longer at least and see to it that Sansa was being treated properly by this Mallister who was to be her husband.

 _It was necessary_ , he tried to tell his conscience. _Joffrey meant to have her. If I’d brought her here unwed, nothing would’ve stopped him from having her even if it meant_ _presenting my head to her as a wedding gift_.

He thought of Lyanna and her words about being betrothed to Robert. She was likely right about him. He would not have been a good husband to her. But Joffrey? He would’ve been far worse for Sansa, Ned suspected.

The king had been enraged when he arrived in Kings Landing at long last without his eldest daughter as ordered. Ned had been threatened with imprisonment and beheading before Cersei Lannister had whispered in her son’s ear enough to calm him. Even after, when the king had spoken more sensibly, he’d talked of inviting Ser Patrek and Lady Sansa to Kings Landing with a disturbing glint in his eye. What would this spoiled and unhinged boy do to get what he wanted?

He opened the scroll from Winterfell to see what others had already read.

 _No doubt Pycelle has already whispered the contents into Cersei’s ear. Perhaps Varys got the raven itself to tell him what news it brought_.

He read his son’s words and reread them, his hands shaking as he drew a goblet to him for a drink.

_Why must the gods be so cruel? First, Lyanna and now Sansa stolen. Lyanna by a prince who dreamed of fulfilling prophecies and Sansa by a wildling._

“Ready our things to leave at once,” he barked to his steward. “Jory, I need an audience with the…the Queen.” She was not desirous of his presence here. Cersei would let him go without too much fuss. “And then find us a ship to sail to White Harbor. It’ll be quicker.”

The two men left to do his bidding without question at once.

Ned scrubbed at his beard and read the letter a third time. Ten days or more since she’d been taken. He hated to think of all that might have been done to her in that time. He thought of Lya in her tower, lying in her bed of blood with blue rose petals scattered all around. And some wildling bastard had taken Sansa and left a single blue rose upon her pillow.

He forgot the scroll from Castle Black and only noticed it later as he was retiring for the night. He planned on getting whatever rest he could before leaving aboard a merchantman in the morning. He doubted he would sleep a wink as he worried over his daughter. And once he read the scroll from Lord Commander Mormont, he was certain he would not sleep at all.

 

* * *

 

 

Twelve days had passed and they would be leaving this place come morning. Lying low in hopes that the search would move further north had been his plan. But, they had lingered here long enough. Jon only hoped they had not lingered too long.

Whatever happened in the end though, he would never forget their days hidden away in the woods and in their hut. If he was captured, tortured and beheaded, he would still consider his nights with Sansa in his arms as worth it.

They’re bond had deepened in the time spent together. Not just physically, though Jon would be a liar if he didn’t admit he thoroughly enjoyed that aspect of marriage, but also they had come to know more of each other; their histories, their stories and their dreams. He told her what he could remember of how he came to live with the Free Folk.

“I thought you were always…”

“No, Mance took me south of the Wall when I was four in a raid.” She was fascinated by the tale but sad for him to be stolen as a boy…and sad for his mother. “I don’t know who my mother was or if she was even alive to mourn me being taken.”

Then, she was intrigued with from where he might’ve come. He regretted that he couldn’t remember much to tell her.

“You know your letters. You were only four when you were taken but someone must’ve taught you. You might be a lord’s son,” she said.

“No,” he chuckled. “Mance said I was a Snow…a bastard. I’m no lord’s son.”

He watched her in the firelight as the day was done, daintily finishing her supper. She was gentle and gently-reared. Tomorrow would bring a fresh set of hardships for his lady. He meant to make tonight memorable to the best of his abilities.

“Come here, wife,” he said, his voice gruff but soft.

He rose slowly, casting aside the chicken bones from the meal he’d stolen them. He licked off his blackened fingers and thought of other places he’d like to have his tongue. His wife had just finished and was washing her hands in the basin. She watched him stalk towards her. She shivered but it was not fear, he knew. It was desire. His cock felt heavy and he ached with the knowledge that she wanted him just as he wanted her.

She dried her hands on her skirts and dipped her head demurely as she met him in the center of the room. The dye had covered most of the red though he could still see hints of it in the firelight. He’d hated doing it but when he’d overheard men talking about the hunt for Lord Stark’s red-haired girl, he knew they must. He’d found the walnuts that very day and made a paste. It'd be days before the stain left his fingers.  His wife had sat there stoically while he worked it into her hair saying the color did not matter so long as they were together and safe. Then, he’d heard her crying late at night when she thought he was asleep. But when the morning came, she smiled at him brightly and went to fetch their water without a word of complaint.

Perhaps Ygritte and the other spear wives would not call her brave but Jon had learned to appreciate Sansa and her own sort of quiet courage and steady endurance.

He grasped the hem of her dress.  “He’s watching us,” his wife said shyly as he pulled it over her head.

“Let him watch. Ghost won’t mind what we do,” he said, eyeing her firm teats and the ginger hair that still covered her cunt. Jon licked his lips. He would start there. He knelt and kissed her mound.

“Jon,” she protested, though feebly. She shoved at his shoulders and her eyes flicked to the wolf again.

“I’ll send him outside,” he said as he grasped her arse, the skin smooth as silk.

“It’s raining.”

He laughed. It was just like Sansa to worry over a wild thing out in the rain. He wondered if she knew how much of his life Jon had spent out in the rain and snow.

“He don’t mind it. He’s spent all his life outside until he met you. It’s been raining for seven days now on and off.”

Jon was grateful for the rain for the sake of Ghost. He’d been fearful of calling him to them too soon after Sansa’s disappearance though part of him had worried over what might become of his friend if left at Winterfell too long without her. He had trusted that Arya would watch over him though and she had. But Jon was clever enough to realize that someone might track the wolf.

So, he’d waited for a dark night and a downpour to warg into Ghost and summon him. He’d joined them before dawn, soaking wet. Sansa had made such a fuss about bringing him by the fire and drying him. He’d chuckled at the way she cooed over the beast. But part of him had enjoyed it. He loved that she loved Ghost as well as he did. And his pretty wife on her hands and knees fussing over the wolf as her gown grew wetter and wetter had been a fine sight to see.

He tightened his hold on her and held her steady as he sucked gently at her bud. She swayed where she stood and he figured he could make her forget the direwolf’s presence tonight. Feeling somewhat wolfish himself, he urged her down onto their pallet on all fours after he’d made her cry out with his mouth and fingers.

“Tonight, I’d like to try this,” he said. He’d seen several men and women couple this way north of the Wall and was merely curious. His hands glided over her back and arse. The white flesh was soon covered in gooseflesh and she quivered under his touch as his cock, hot and straining, brushed up against her. “Alright?” he asked.

Sansa turned her head to look back over her shoulder at him. She grasped the blanket and nodded.

He slid inside her with a groan. It felt as good as ever but he enjoyed the view of her arse backing up against him the deeper he went. He gripped her hips, his stained flesh on her unblemished skin, and began to move. She bowed her head and held the blanket tighter.

He found his rhythm, his balls smacking against her slick with every thrust. He was soon grunting with pleasure but Sansa made no sound except an occasional gasp. He didn’t like that. Her knuckles were turning white where she held the blanket. And the dark hair across her back, it didn’t seem right. He knew this was Sansa but he longed to see her face.

He slipped out of her and she glanced back again, her eyes wide and questioning. “I would look upon you while I am in you, my love,” he said, lying down. She smiled, a relived sort of smile and he realized she had not been enjoying it. He kissed her cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you. We can try that some other time…but only if you like.”

That pleased her and she nestled against him as she often did after they coupled. She kissed his chest and then up his beard to his mouth. She was hungry for his kisses before, during and after, he’d found. He liked that. He loved kissing her.

She slipped her tongue in his mouth and the kissing grew more heated. His cock was throbbing with need as he pulled her on top of him. Her legs parted, straddling him. They looked at one another, both pairs of eyes searching the other’s face to see if this was acceptable. It certainly was to him. Jon kissed his way down her throat and to her teats before grasping his cock to rub along her cunt. Sansa moaned and rose to her knees. He looked up to see her slide downward, taking him in. Her face was pinched at first but that soon faded.

“Good?” he asked, hoping.

“Very good,” she replied, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.

And then she began to move and Jon wasted no more time with questions.

Her hips rose and fell and moved forward and back, a circular pattern almost. Their eyes were locked on each other. She was leading and Jon gladly surrendered to her will. Sansa was soon lost in the pleasure she found and so was he. Watching his wife as she bit her lip and cried out his name repeatedly as she increased the tempo of their loving, Jon Snow felt both humbled to know her love and as powerful as any king.

When her hips jerked to a halt with a final shudder, he grasped her arse and pounded up into her a few more beats before spilling with a cry of his own.

Perched above him on elbows and panting, Sansa smiled down at him. Her face grew pinker and he pushed the curtain of dark hair that threatened to hide her blue eyes from him away.

“You liked it?” She nodded. He kissed her brow. “Tell me.”

“I liked it,” she murmured into his neck.

“Aye. So did I. There’s no shame in it, wife.”

“I…Ghost was watching us.”

Jon looked over at the snoring direwolf by the fire and chuckled. “Ghost is sleeping. We should rest as well. It may be many days before we can get a decent night’s sleep.”

He pulled her close and savored the comfort of their pallet and the warmth of his wife in his arms.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Well?” Robb asked.

“Gone, milord. The dogs lost the scent at the creek. They’ve been unable to pick it back up.” Theon grumbled and Farlen looked uneasy. “The rain, milord…it makes it hard for them to…”

“I am not blaming you or the dogs, Farlen,” Robb said. _I am not blaming you but every day reduces our chances of getting her back, I fear_. He left it unsaid. They all knew it.

The direwolf had kept by Arya until three nights ago during the worst of the rains and then disappeared without a trace. Arya had appeared as surprised at Ghost’s disappearance as anyone though Robb sometimes wondered.

“Robb?”

He turned to find his mother standing in the doorway. Theon and Farlen bowed and left them.

“No sign of the wolf. No sign of Sansa. I’m sorry, Mother.”

She came over and laid her hand upon his cheek. He put an arm around her. He was not certain who needed comfort more. She had the blue rose lying in her chambers, he knew. She had spoken to Arya and to some of the women around the castle. She knew no more than he did.

Or so he thought…

“I don’t think she was stolen.”

“What?!” He lowered her voice and said more quietly, “Why do you said so?”

He went to close the door to his Father’s solar. Ser Patrek was already a steady annoyance. If he suspected Sansa had left willingly, he would grow even more impossible. As it was, Robb no longer could bear to see Sansa wed to him even if they managed to get her back. But that would be a fight for another day.

He gestured for his mother to sit and joined her. “Tell me why you say so.”

His mother fiddled with her skirts a moment and then cleared her throat. “You may think I’m mad.” He shook his head. “I had thought she had developed an attachment to a village boy or some passing knight or man-at-arms a while back. The way she showed no real interest in any offers for her hand. Even back when the offer came from Robert to betroth her to Joffrey, there was hesitancy on her part.”

“Aye…I recall her being downcast before their arrival.”

“The wolf though…that has puzzled me for some time. Why would the beast come to her as it did?”

“I have wondered the same.”

“And there were times before Ser Patrek’s arrival when she appeared so happy though I know she did not relish the match. And, Arya…her answers have all been satisfactory but somehow, I’m left wondering if she is telling the whole truth.”

“Me as well,” he nodded.

“Your younger sister has spent a good deal of time with the servants and the smallfolk. I decided to speak with a few of them. Some told me there’s been a rash of thieving in the Wintertown the past moon or so.”

“There is always thieving.”

“Perhaps. A kitchen maid admitted seeing Sansa stealing food from the kitchens a while back, two moons or so ago.”

Robb chuckled despite the bittersweet pang it caused. “Lemoncakes, no doubt.”

“No,” his mother said. “Meat, bread…a flask.” That was surprising. Why would Sansa feel the need to steal such things from their own kitchens? “The girl said nothing for fear of being in trouble…for saying anything about your sister.”

“I see.”

His mother reached into the pocket of her gown. “I decided to check her room again. I found this in her jewelry box…under everything else.”

She held out a grubby piece of parchment. There was one word written on it in large, blockish letters.

**FEEST**

Robb pondered the word and the paper. Someone illiterate or nearly so had written this, he was certain. His sister had put it in her jewelry box with her pretty things.

“Why would Sansa keep this? And who gave it to her?”

“She disappeared the night of the welcoming feast.”

“Aye, she did.”

“The wolf was missing for a few days prior to Ser Patrek’s arrival, wasn’t it?”

“It was.” Robb felt even more defeated. “We lost his scent though with the rain.”

“It’s interesting that the wolf stayed here for so many days after her disappearance. And then, in the midst of a downpour left at last. Again, you may think me mad…but what Sansa met someone when she first met the direwolf? You recall how protective she has been of it?”

“Aye.”

“What if this person was attached to the wolf and to her? And what if she went willingly with this person when the chance came?”

It did sound mad and yet it made some sense as well. “But if that’s the case, we…”

“And if that someone has been waiting for a good opportunity to lure the wolf away again, perhaps they are not so far away.”

Robb nodded. It was worth looking into. And, Father would be coming home. Robb hoped he would have some lead to offer than might help recover his sister if he could not do so before his father’s return.

“We’ll redouble our efforts in the Wolfswood and the surrounding area.”

 

* * *

 

 

Four days and nights of walking; south some, then southeast, turning east and then south again. Jon kept looking to the stars at night and the sun by day but he would occasionally stop as though he was trying to figure something out. It was the only time they stopped unless they were sleeping as Sansa’s tired legs could attest. They walked by day and walked by night, resting at infrequent intervals and depending on whether or not Jon feared people were near.

She groaned when he nudged her awake and removed the horse blanket and furs he would soon be carrying in a bundle on his back. The boulder they’d lain against was covered in moss and water dripped upon her left leg.

 _More rain today_ , she thought dismally.

Mud caked the hem of her dress and she was covered in it as well. She was sure to look a fright judging by Jon’s appearance. She was grateful not to have a mirror at present.

Sansa felt a sharp pang of hunger as she rose and stretched, muscles throughout her body screaming in protest. They’d had naught but a few berries and acorns since yesterday morning when their meager supplies had run out. She had never been so hungry, cold and tired in all her life.

 _A spoiled and useless girl. Jon does not complain. At least he doesn’t complain of the conditions or hunger_.

He grumbled some though and cast her impatient glances when she would fall behind or have to stop and make water more often than he did. But if he was tired or hungry, he pretended otherwise.

She wanted to be a good wife, a useful wife. She tried to imagine what it might be like if…no, _when_ they arrived in Braavos.

_I’ll set up a shop making dresses. The Braavosi ladies will pay handsomely for my designs. Even Queen Cersei admired my talents. And Jon can find work…doing something._

What manner of work her husband would do or how exactly she was to set up a shop, Sansa did not question too closely. It would only depress her, remind her of the glaring flaws in their plans.

_We’ll have a little house or live above my shop. I’ll bake us bread…I’ll learn to bake bread. We’ll earn enough to keep us warm and fed and lie in a soft feather bed with silk sheets every night. I’ll sing to him in the mornings and he will bring me flowers once in a while. We’ll learn the language in time and make many friends there._

The rain pattered down more steadily on her head, beating the daydream from her mind.

She stumbled along in his wake through the brush and branches that pulled at her skirts and scratched her delicate skin. She kept her hair braided and sighed when she would see the thick dark rope of it hanging down her chest.

_It’ll wash out eventually. It was necessary to keep us hidden. It would be silly to whine about it._

Jon had drawn ahead and looked back with a frown. “Come along!” he barked. His tone was impatient.

Her feet hurt. It was hard to keep up. Her boots were pinching her toes.

They were making for the White Knife but their progress was twice as slow as he’d hoped…which was twice as slow as he would’ve managed on his own, he had told her more than once. He’d decided against stealing a horse so close to Winterfell. He said they’d find one soon. But the North was enormous and, as he did not plan to stick to the Kings Road or go too near any village or holdfast, Sansa could not see how they would ever find a horse to take.

Ghost was their eyes, sometimes scouting ahead and sometimes covering their rear. She wondered if she could ride on him.

Her skirts became entangled in a shrub but when she reached to pluck herself free, she was pierced by thorns.

“Ow!” she cried. She raised her fingers to her lips. They were bleeding.

Jon turned with a huff and walked back towards her. He looked at her bloodied hand with a sniff and declared it a scratch. He continued on without another word.

She stood there stunned at his callousness and ashamed of the tears that stung her eyes. Where had her sweet husband gone? Were all men so unfeeling in the cold light of day?

But he kept walking and not looking back so Sansa had little choice but to lift her skirts and follow.

They came to a rushing brook, swollen from the recent rains. He kept looking to the sky and all around. He seemed lost and uncertain.

“Could this lead to the White Knife possibly?” she asked, hoping she might be right and that Jon might think her clever or useful.

“I don’t have a map but possibly,” he said irritably.

 _Would you be able to read it if you did?_ she thought ignobly but then felt guilty. He could not help that he could not read.

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand.

She grasped it not quite understanding his intention until it was too late. He leapt for the bank on the other side, nearly four feet away, but she did not. Their hands broke apart but not before she lost her balance and fell face first in the brook. The water felt freezing compared to the creek near their cottage. And it was muddy. The bottom of it sucked at her boots, making it hard for her to stand. She would rise to her feet only to stumble to her knees again.

Jon cursed foully and then jumped in to pull her bodily out, none too gently. He was soon as soaked as she was…if they hadn’t been drenched already from the rain. Sansa felt weak as she staggered up the bank and sat down upon a large rock. She began wringing out her sodden skirts.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He was already preparing to move on.

“I’m wringing out my dress,” she huffed.

“Why? It’ll only get wet again.”

“It’s heavy,” she complained. She removed her boots next to pour what mud and water out of them she could.

“We need to keep moving. You’ve got to try and stay on your feet.”

“I never would’ve fallen if you’d told me what you were doing,” she grumbled under her breath.

“I thought it would be obvious.”

“Obvious to you perhaps.”

“What did you think I meant for us to do when I held out my hand and said, ‘come on?’”

Sansa scowled. “I thought…I thought perhaps you meant to carry me across.” _Like a knight might carry his lady_ , she did not say out loud.

Jon stood there staring at her for a moment and then…he laughed.

“It’s not funny,” she said, standing to face him. He kept laughing. Her face grew hot and her ire was stirred. “You could’ve told me you were jumping!” He covered his mouth and nodded in agreement. And then he laughed harder. “You’re an insufferable ass!” she shouted before giving him a shove and walking away.

“You’re going the wrong way!” he hollered, still laughing.

“How would you know?! You don’t have a map!”

“Sansa, come back here!” he shouted next. He was no longer laughing. She would show him.

“You don’t even know where we’re going, do you?!” she hissed as she turned back to him.

She saw the momentary uncertainty and guilt cross his brow before he shouted, “We’re going to White Harbor!”

“But you’re lost! Just admit it!” she said before whirling around to leave again.

“Sansa, get back here right now!”

“No! I’ve had enough of walking in the rain and listening to you yell at me! I’m tired! I’m hungry! I…”

_I want to go home._

As soon as the thought formed, she knew it was a mistake to think it. But instantly, her mother and father’s faces swam before her. And Robb and Arya and the boys. Old Nan and Septa Mordane. Old Ser Roderick and even Theon. Everyone who made the castle her home.

The tears were back and already falling fast. She did not want to cry. He would only laugh at her. She lifted her skirts and started running. They were heavy and weighed her down but she needed away from him and his mocking. Her nose dripped and her eyes overflowed.

A flash of white raced beside her. Ghost. He blocked her path and was attempting to turn her with his great body. Jon’s doing, she was certain.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “Leave me alone!”

The red eyes stared at her, sad and solemn.

She didn’t want to leave him. She just wanted to be warm and dry again. She fell to her knees in the mud. What did it matter? She would never be clean again. She wept in the mud and cursed herself for being a silly, crying girl.

Ghost put his head on her shoulder and she soon heard Jon tromping up behind her. He would chastise her for her foolishness and slowing them down. He would yell at her again. He did neither. He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. He stroked her hair and his face was full of remorse.

“I’m sorry, my lady. It was…unkind of me to laugh. Please, don’t leave me. You’re right. I’m lost. I’m trying to find the White Knife to lead us south to White Harbor…but it’s further than I thought and I have no way of telling how far we’ve come.”

“You’d be better off without me,” she sobbed as he held her. “I slow you down.”

“Aye, you do…but I’d only be wandering aimlessly without you. It is you who gives me direction, Sansa,” he said sincerely. He squeezed her to him once more and kissed her cheek. “I love you. I’m sorry for laughing at you. Come on, sweet wife,” he said more softly than she’d heard him speak in since they’d left their cottage.

“I miss our cottage,” she whined.

“I do, too.”

“My feet hurt.”

“I’ll try and find us a place to rest out of the rain for the night.”

“I wish we could’ve stayed there.” He nodded. His dark eyes were as sad and as solemn as Ghost’s had been. She had not meant for him to be sad as well. “But we’ll find somewhere else to live together, won’t we, husband?”

“Aye, my lady,” he said, his mouth quirking into a smile. “We will.”

 

That night, Jon found a cave in some low hills. She thought they might be to the northeast of the Cerwyn lands. It was dirty, dank and dark but it was out of the rain.

He started a fire and Sansa felt true warmth for the first time in days. She took off her boots and massaged her feet. Jon knelt down to look at them.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he lifted one.

“Checking for blisters.” Sansa grimaced and he snorted. “I don’t see any. I’m sorry that your feet hurt.” He took over rubbing them and she relaxed. Her stomach growled audibly. It sounded like a bear was in the cave with them and she blushed. “I’ll find us a bite,” he promised, attempting to hide his chuckle.

He left her with Ghost for a short while and returned with two hares and some berries for their supper. He’d refilled their flask of water as well. She watched him skin the first rabbit and asked if he’d teach her how to skin the other.

“No, you’ll get your hands bloody,” he said.

“They’re already dirty. I can wash them after.”

He sighed and gave her his knife and taught her what to do. It was not a pleasant task but she found satisfaction in feeling that she was learning something useful for their circumstances. And though she was not skilled nor quick, he was patient. She smiled when she had managed to skin one side and he offered to do the rest.

She was pleased with herself until he looked at her sadly and said, “You do not slow me down, Sansa. I bring you down. You were a fine lady living in a castle. I’ve made you…”

“Happy,” she interrupted before he could continue. “You make me happy, happier than I would’ve been as a Mallister and far happier than I would’ve been as Joffrey’s queen.”

He smiled then and the sadness seemed to abate. They roasted their hares over the fire and ate companionably together. The tension from earlier in the day was completely gone.

She shivered involuntarily despite the fire and Jon rubbed her arm. “Your dress is still wet. Take it off, wife. It can dry by the fire while we sleep.”

“How long can we stay here?” she asked once she had done as he said.

“Only the night and perhaps part of the day. But with settlements nearby, I’ll find us a horse tomorrow before we set out and we will ride…or you will at least. Rest, my lady.”

Only the night. Tomorrow, they would likely be forced to sleep in the open again. She felt like a child in one of Old Nan’s tales, lost in the forest and only evading the monsters by sheer, dumb luck.

 _That is what we are, lost children in the woods, squabbling when we are tired and hungry_.

She acknowledged the truth of it but would not lose hope.

 _Oh, how much simpler life would be if we could love one another openly without fear_.

But as she nestled into her husband’s arms on the fur and beneath the blanket he’d brought from their cottage, she could not complain of their situation.

She had grown accustomed to sleeping naked by his side at the cottage. And now, she was growing accustomed to Ghost being present at all times. The wolf made her feel safe. If monsters were out in the woods, at least they had one of their own watching over them.

Jon was nuzzling at her neck as she began to drift off. His manhood was poking her bottom. She smiled wickedly and spread her legs, backing up against him. They’d not coupled since the cottage.

He grunted her name, a question. She nodded and she felt him guiding himself to her entrance. She tilted forward a bit, allowing him to slip inside her wetness. The angle was different. Like the night they’d tried from behind on their last night at the cottage, she wasn’t sure she liked it initially. But she was glad to feel this closeness, this intimacy after their quarrel earlier.

He gripped her hips and his snapped in time. His breath was hot on her neck. She threw one leg back over his and one of his hands came forward to tease her breasts. Then, the other slithered between her legs to her bud. He rubbed at it, soliciting a wanton moan.

“Good?” he asked.

“Mmm…good,” she hummed. It was surprisingly so.

She shuddered soon after and felt him biting softly at her neck as he spilled. His manhood softened and slipped out of her. She closed her eyes to sleep. Tomorrow would be another long day. She would enjoy this respite while she could.

“I love you, wife,” he mumbled sleepily.

“I love you, too.”

 

* * *

 

 

“A raven from Lord Bolton,” the maester said as Ramsay Snow broke his fast at the lord’s table. He cut his eyes towards the maester, a sharp and meaningful look. “My lord,” the man amended.

He was no lord. He was not even a Bolton truly but he would suffer no disrespect from an old grey fool wearing a chain. And with his father gone, he was Lord of the Dreadfort.

_Or at least I should be._

He cracked the seal and read his father’s words, a sinister smile curling at his lips.

“Ben?” he said to one of his boys sitting at the lower table.

“Aye…milord?”

“Get your girls ready. Damon, see that Blood is saddled for me. We’re going on a hunt.”

“What are we hunting, milord?” Damon asked, fingering his whip.

“Wildings, a wildling who dared to pluck the Northern Rose.” His boys all smiled. “We’ll find him for Lord Stark and teach him a new name. And maybe…we’ll find a bride for me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder-Jon is 16 and Sansa is 15. They are two teenagers in love hoping to find a way to be together. He's got survival skills in abundance from living beyond the Wall and he's clever BUT he's not had the benefit of a lord's education like Jon in canon. Not only is he essentially illiterate, he's not studied geography or much about battle/military strategy so bear that in mind before casting any stones. And Sansa has had a lady's education which doesn't involve being taught how to live in the wild at all naturally. So, if their plans seem not entirely well thought out, that would be because they are not.
> 
> How will our babes in the wood fare then as we have various fractions hunting for them? We shall see!


	12. The Noose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on updating this one. Writing time as been crunched the past month and I had a WIP I wanted to finish. I'll work towards concluding this one soon. I think there should only be a couple of more chapters after this.

 

“Sansa? Are you angry with me?”

She shook her head slowly. It ached dreadfully. _Too little sleep of late_ , she told herself. The horse he’d stolen a fortnight ago whickered nearby and she shook her head to clear it.

“I’m not angry…not truly. But I wish I’d known.”

She set down the half-eaten apple he’d pilfered. She had long past stopped worrying over filling her belly with stolen food. She just didn’t seem to have an appetite this evening.

“I didn’t want you to think I was…I wanted you to know that I came to Winterfell of my own free choice.”

“Except you were sent there with a goal. You were sent there to spy.”

“Mance wanted me to see why King Robert had come but it was my choice to volunteer, don’t you see? I volunteered because I hoped to see you.”

She ignored that part. She knew he had wanted to see her just as she had wanted to see him. She wanted to focus on why he’d been sent exactly but it was hard to concentrate with the throbbing ache in her skull.

“Why? Why would the Wildlings be worried over King Robert’s visit?”

“Mance…he’s spoken of a…”

He bit his lip and looked troubled. She sensed there was something he didn’t wish to tell her. Perhaps it was something he had promised not to tell a living soul.

“If you don’t wish to betray a confidence, I will not force you to.”

He chuckled and passed her the skin of ale he’d stolen. “I should like for you to force me, my lady,” he said a with naughty leer. She rolled her eyes at him and accepted the skin. It tasted foul but she had a great thirst and drank what she could. He stopped his leering and spoke more sensibly. “It’s not that I won’t tell you. It’s just not always easy to remember I’m not with them now.”

“You’ll always be part of them in a sense, Jon. It’s who you are.”

He nodded and said, “Mance has been gathering the elders of all the clans for some time now. I’m left out of their talks but I’ve overheard some things. He says there’s a great war coming and our people are in danger.”

“From who? The Nights Watch?”

“No. The Crows aren’t so many and they keep to their side of the Wall mostly. We’re not afraid of them…not with the numbers that Mance means to gather.”

“Then who?”

“There’s things on the side of the Wall, Sansa…things you wouldn’t believe. I don’t even know if I believe them all since I’ve only heard the stories.”

“Try me.”

“There’s stories of dead men walking and coming back to life, only they’re not really alive. They hate the living because they’re dead and they want everyone else to be dead, too. And then, there’s tales of the Others.” Sansa shivered. She recalled some of the frightening stories Old Nan would sometimes tell. Bran liked the scary stories but she did not. “I don’t know if the stories are all true. But I’ve seen giants with my own eyes and you say everyone down here believes them dead.”

It was true. He’d told her of the giants the other night and tried to sing her a song about the last of them. It had been sad. He’d been amazed when she told him no one would believe him.

“And a war is coming?”

“So says Mance. Not that he tells me so much, always treating me a like a boy.” He poked at the fire with a scowl.

“Do you believe him?”

“Maybe. Mance is many things but he’s no fool.”

She wanted to ask more but the headache was worse. She felt as though she might vomit. She hated being sick.

“What’s the matter?” he asked just before she retched.

 

* * *

 

 

“There’s the Sisters, my lord,” Jory said just as the islands came into view.

Ned nodded from where he stood at the rail. Logically, he knew that standing on deck at all hours with a clenched jaw and his eyes turned northward would not make the ship sail any faster. But he had kept his vigil all the same.

He’d thought back on his interactions with Sansa this past year or more; the blissful glow he’d witnessed at times and the quiet sorrow she’d seemed to hold close to her heart at others. He thought of her less than enthusiast response to Joffrey and the mystery knight who had saved her from the prince’s vicious advances. He remembered her sudden interest in praying to the old gods in the godswood and the strange appearance of the white direwolf…and how she had disappeared in the midst of a feast without a trace. All of it spoke of some secret.

It all reminded him painfully of Lya and her bed of blood. She’d had her own secrets but was taken before they could be discovered. Whatever hopes she had cherished with regards to her prince, they had been cruelly torn from her in the end.

_‘Promise me, Ned.’_

How could he ever say no to his beloved little sister? So, he’d kept his own bitter secrets and what good had that done anyone? He would be ashamed to face Lyanna now and tell her the fate of her son.

_I could’ve told Cat_ , he thought with regret. _I could’ve shared my burden with my lady wife. I knew the anger which festered within her. I could’ve prevented her rash decision_.

But that was irrelevant now. The boy was lost to him. He could only pray his daughter was not.

“We’ll send a raven to Winterfell as soon as we dock,” he told Jory grimly.

 

* * *

 

 

Varamyr’s eyes rolled back as he slipped his skin. Mance and the others could do nothing but wait for word of Olmort. The man had volunteered to come with him on this journey but Mance still felt guilt. He’d not wanted any of his people to bleed over this.

They were huddled together in the woods a few leagues south of Long Lake. The river was not so far off. They’d avoided the Kings Road. They’d made it this far and Mance had hoped they wouldn’t be discovered. He should’ve known such hopes would be denied.

“They’re skinning him,” Varamyr spat as soon as his eyes returned to normal.

“Bad way to go,” Mance said quietly. He reached for a stick to stoke the fire until he recalled there was no fire. They couldn’t risk it. They’d nearly been captured. Olmort had not been so lucky as the rest.

“Wonder what song he’ll sing them?” Varamyr asked, the malice in his voice plain to all.

“You said they was skinning him. He’ll sing them any song they care to hear, I’d say.”

“They’ll know we’re here. They’ll know why we’re coming. We need to circle back north.”

“No. They’ll know we’re here…but we’ll continue on.”

“Mance…this is asking to be caught and killed. The bastard ain’t worth the trouble.”

“Then go home if you choose, Varamyr. I have not made you swear any oaths, have I?” Varamyr looked down at the ground unhappily. “Any of you that want to go back, I won’t stop you. But we need Jon Snow back with us. If you go, perhaps you’ll live for a while. But, we all know what’s coming. I have my reasons for wanting Jon back, reasons I’ve not shared with any of you but that does not mean they’re not good reasons. So, go if you want. But if you go, mark my words…when I return, I’ll remember that you left.”

He stomped to the edge of their camp, his heart beating so fast he had to strain his ears for any signs of men leaving. No sounds came. He closed his eyes and expelled a pent-up breath. He’d kept them with him for awhile longer at least.

 

* * *

 

 

Robb came upon the corpse with Theon that some of the men had discovered. The man could not have been dead more than a day.

“Bloody Boltons,” he sneered. “I told Roose I did not need his help.”

“It seems he thought he’d help regardless,” Theon said without mirth.

_And what does he hope to gain?_

His lord father had warned him about Roose Bolton before he’d left for Kings Landing.

_‘You may have to rely upon him at times. Give him the respect he is owed as a lord and one of our bannermen…but never trust him, Robb.’_

“Any sign of the wolf?”

“None,” Ser Roderick answered.

The search of the Wolfswood had yielded nothing and Ser Roderick had suggested going east towards the White Knife two days ago. Parties were ranging far and wide in their search for Sansa but Robb had decided to travel east with the old knight. They were only a party of twelve at present, more than enough for his sister’s captor he’d thought but what if the man had help by now?

“Look at his clothes…what’s left of them,” Ser Roderick instructed.

Furs and skins, no cloth. “A wildling.”

“Aye…a wildling.”

Had this man taken Sansa? If so, where was she? Perhaps Roose’s bastard son was carrying her back to Winterfell as they spoke. _Or perhaps he carries her off to the Dreadfort_.

Skinning was no longer tolerated in the North and, if Ramsay Snow or his men had done this, they should be punished. But for now, there were more important matters.

“Any wildlings captured are to be brought directly to me before they’re questioned,” Robb commanded. “None are to be slain if it can be helped without me speaking with them first. Keep watch for the white direwolf as well. Pass the word along.”

Murmurs of ‘aye, my lord’ were made and three riders left in search of their other men.

“Perhaps this Ramsay Snow has already done us a great service,” Theon suggested, pointing at the dead man.

“Somehow, I doubt it.”

“We’ll find her, Robb,” Theon said more quietly.

“Every day that passes, I question it more and more. But I’ll tell you one thing, Theon…whoever took her, I want to meet him. I want to look him in the eye before I execute him.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Jon? How much longer?”

She sounded weaker. He needed to focus on guiding the horse but he was worried she would fall. He should’ve put her in front of him when they set off earlier.

“We’ll stop before long. Keep your arms wrapped around me, my sweet lady.”

“Will we be getting on a boat soon?”

“Soon, wife,” he lied.

Just past the trees to their left, they could hear the rushing of the river. They had found the White Knife at last. There was no mistaking it. There were no river runners available for the likes of them though and no way they could safely cross the swift-moving water.

They were headed towards a meeting of the Knife and its western tributary. Then, they would be forced to find some way to cross. They would have to travel along beside it, down and down, until they reached White Harbor. Beyond that, the Bite awaited and then the Narrow Sea.

Sansa had explained it all the other night when he’d got her to use a stick to draw a crude map in the mud. His wife was very clever and far more learned than himself. From everything she’d told him, he’d decided it would be a very long journey to White Harbor. But Jon had traveled farther to reach her. The journey could not be too long if it meant getting her safely away.

Once there, he hoped to find a ship they could board to Braavos with whatever coin he could steal and a bit of luck.

_We’ve been lucky so far._

He tried not to worry too much about what might await them in Braavos. Neither of them could speak Braavosi but Sansa had said many who spoke the Common Tongue traveled there. And Jon could always speak with a knife or his fists if necessary.

A large city made up of islands and connected by waterways. It was nearly impossible for Jon to picture it. Sansa had said hundreds of thousands of people lived there. He’d asked if it was bigger than the lands beyond the Wall. She’d laughed and said it was not nearly so large as that.

“That many people in so small a place?” he’d asked incredulous. She’d nodded. “Why would anyone want to live like that?!” She’d frowned then. “I mean…it will be something new but we will adapt to it. I look forward to seeing the canals you told me of.”

She’d smiled once more and Jon had buried any other concerns he had.

He looked back at where she had her head lying on his shoulder. The sun shone upon them today and he could see the hints of fire at the root of her hair. It would be safer for Sansa to continue dying it for a time. They would need to find more walnuts soon. The Free Folk considered red hair as lucky because it was uncommon. Jon didn’t think the kneelers saw it that way but it still caught the eye.

_It was my good luck to happen upon you that day. You’re my good luck…but I’m not yours._

Sansa had fallen ill two days earlier. Her cheeks were unnaturally flushed from the ague that had started not long after daybreak this morning.

_None of which would’ve happened if she was still safe in her castle._

He shoved his guilt away and focused on what was before him.

Three buildings loomed ahead; a mill, a house and a barn. Another mill…he was not sure if that was a good sign considering his last stay at a mill. Jon tightened his grip on the reins. There wasn’t much choice but to stop with her in this condition. How much longer would their luck last?

_Not long_ , he decided as three men emerged, all armed. It was too late to avoid them without drawing suspicion. And they likely had horses, too.

“Good day…ser. My wife is ill,” he said to the eldest man, the one he deemed the miller though he didn’t remind Jon much of Old Dace. There was a harder edge to this man but what did he know of millers?

He’d called him ‘ser’ in hopes of winning some sympathy. Kneelers seemed to like it when someone was kneeling to them for a change. The man and his companions looked at him craftily but their expressions shifted when they looked at Sansa. Jon hoped it was born out of concern instead of covetousness.

“What’s your name, lad?”

“Jon.” There was no need to lie about that, he hoped. It would be easier if he didn’t have to remember a different name. “Is this your mill?”

“Nah,” the man laughed before he spit on the ground. “The miller’s gone away and my master is hunting. How old are you?”

“Si-seventeen,” he stuttered as a warning began to buzz in his ears. Something didn’t seem right about these men. The one who was speaking was friendly but the other two were slowly edging around behind them. _Closing in…like a noose_.

“And your wife?”

“Sixteen.” The second lie came easier. “Her name is Sarra.” They had agreed to that name if anyone should ask before she’d fallen ill. Jon hoped she would not give them away in her feverish state. “We are only passing through. We don’t mean to…”

“If your wife is ill, you could spend the night in our barn.”

“We must keep going,” he said, slowly turning the horse to face the men behind him. He had a knife. He was quick…but he had to keep her safe.

“Where are you headed?”

“To her father’s place.” He would not give these men anymore information.

“Come inside, lad. My name is Ben and these are my boys. There’s some stew over the fire.”

“We wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. We’ve not much to do at the moment anyway until our master returns.”

One of the men looked ready to put his hands on the reins of his horse. Jon would have to act soon to get away. It would be three against one and Sansa was ill. He did not like these odds.

“Our master is looking for someone, Lord Stark’s daughter. The maid’s said to be a beauty with red hair and blue eyes. Have you seen any girls like that? May have been taken by a wildling they say,” Ben said, giving Sansa a close look. 

“No,” Jon said gruffly. “We’ve seen no one.”

“She could’ve tried to disguise herself even.”

Jon felt his presence before he heard him. A low, rumbling growl that made the horse stamp nervously in place. He could hear dogs baying from inside the barn. They’d smelled the wolf.

“Is that a…wolf?” the man closest to them asked, plainly frightened as Ghost drew nearer.

“It’s a big as a pony,” the other man said.

Maybe they’d never seen a direwolf before but Jon doubted they didn’t realize what he was.

“We thank you for your courtesy, sers, but my husband is right,” Sansa said unexpectedly, “we must keep going. I will be well once I reach my father’s house.”

The eldest man smiled and dipped his head towards her. “Of course. Safe travels…milady.”

_Milady._   Jon felt as though he’d been dipped in a frozen lake.

He could attack and hope for some luck with Ghost’s aid but his priority was getting her away. He snapped the reins and the horse broke into a trot. It took all his efforts not to look back at the men. He listened for any sounds that they were being followed. He heard none but he could not relax. They were two on a tired horse and she was ill. It would not be hard for those men to catch up to them if they chose. He would need to keep Ghost close even though he could give them away.

 

* * *

 

 

“No, ser. That is not necessary.”

“It is necessary to me, my lady.”

“I’m certain everything is being done to recover my daughter, Ser Patrek. I would prefer…”

“Forgive me, Lady Stark, but my men and I are tired of sitting around and waiting. We’ll ride out in an hour. Perhaps we’ll find your son.”

Catelyn was annoyed by his interruption and even more annoyed by Roose Bolton watching the interchange closely.

_Your father is sworn to my father. You hope to be my goodson. If I say no, that should be all the answer you need. I would prefer you to stay here where I can keep an eye on you and your young bloods_. But she would not say it only to have the man openly refuse her again in her own hall. He was eager to be off and perhaps it was just as well. _Go, then if you must. I will not wish you back again._

Maester Luwin appeared at her side as Ser Patrek strode away. “My lady, Lord Stark has arrived in White Harbor and sent this.” He let nothing show but Catelyn knew him well by now. She accepted the scroll and felt Bolton’s eyes upon her.

“I’ll read it in my chambers.” _Away from prying eyes. Then, I’ll burn it_.

Alone in her chambers, Cat unfolded the scroll and read her husband’s words, considering them carefully. Ned had been cautious in his phrasing but it was easy enough for his wife to interpret. Both of them had come to the same conclusion independently, it would seem.

Sansa had been stolen perhaps but not against her will. She’d left with a lover. How long had they been planning this? And when would they have managed it?

She thought of the direwolf, the food pilfered from the kitchen and the note in Sansa’s room. _Something is missing though. They could not have planned it all on their own,_ _could they?_ Intuition guided her and she sent for Arya. She would phrase things differently this time.

“Sansa has run away.” Her daughter’s eyes widened. “She’s run off with a lover to avoid this marriage to Ser Patrek.” She let that information sink in before she rounded on her daughter. “You already know this, don’t you?”

“No, Mother. I…”

“Please don’t lie to me, Arya. Your father is in White Harbor and will be home as quick as he can. I don’t want any harm to come to your sister and I know you feel the same. Tell me whatever you know.”

“I…I promised not to tell.”

“You want to protect your sister. I respect that. But she could be in grave danger. Men from all over the North are seeking her and this man she’s with.”

“Why would anyone hurt Sansa?”

“Some of the men upon this hunt cannot but trusted to act with your sister’s best interest at heart. Ser Patrek is full of impatience and barely disguised rage. Imagine his wrath if he realizes he has been spurned. Roose Bolton has taken a keen interest in the matter. I worry what he might do…what he might already have done.” Arya bit at her lip, apparently pondering something. “Arya…you know your sister’s gentle heart. If she is in love with this man, she may go to any lengths to protect him.”

“Jon wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.”

“Jon?”

Catelyn felt her heart fluttering wildly as inexorable dread descended. _No…it could not be. Jon is a common enough name_.

Her daughter nodded. “They told me he was a serving man for Lord Karstark who fell in love with Sansa when King Robert was here…but I think he was a wildling.”

“What is…Jon like?”

“He’s kind. He’s clearly in love with Sansa. He’s…”

Catelyn could barely stand to hear the rest. She wanted to cover her ears and shout that he could not possibly have grey eyes and dark hair. He could not possibly look like Arya. It was all a coincidence.  But in her heart, Catelyn knew better.

_The gods are punishing me and they punish my sweet daughter for my sins._

 

* * *

 

 

 “Jon?!” Sansa cried as the riders appeared over the hill they had just descended.

Ghost raced beside them. They had been fleeing since dawn when the direwolf had made them aware of the approaching men, horses and dogs. She was weak and still feverish but she knew it was no fever dream when Jon urged her onto the horse leaving all their meager things behind.

The hounds were barking excitedly. Ghost could make short work of them perhaps but there was so many. Sansa cringed at the thought of his white coat covered in blood. Jon clung tightly to her as she prayed they might escape, his hands hot as the fever that was lingering in her sapped his strength now. But where could they go?

She would rather die than see Jon killed. She feared for Ghost. This was a nightmare. She wished it was only a nightmare.

Every new hill they crested gave them a brief respite from the sight of their pursuers. But there were no places to hide as they’d left the woods behind and the respites grew shorter and shorter.

An arrow hissed by them and Sansa yelped. It was his back to them and perhaps they did not care if they struck her, too. Maybe they were only chasing them for sport and had no idea who she was. She could hear raucous laughter and taunts as they grew closer. The chilling baying of the hounds was nearly upon them. Another arrow and another. Ghost was nearly brought down.

“Send Ghost away,” she pled. “They’re aiming for him.”

The wolf snarled…or was it Jon?

Without warning, Jon grunted in pain just as the horse stumbled and fell, taking both of them down with it. The impact of hitting the ground left her stunned and momentarily breathless. Jon scrambled to his hands and knees, crouching over her body, his brow covered with sweat from the ague, protecting her as Ghost growled menacingly by his side.  There was an arrow buried in his shoulder.

She closed her eyes but briefly and swallowed the tears that threatened. She opened them again as the thundering of hooves grew louder.

“I have loved you, husband,” she murmured as she stared at his face, committing it to memory before she died.

He did not reply, too intent upon the foes that came for them. She stroked his bearded jaw and then lifted her eyes towards the sky. The sun was shining and he was beautiful. They would’ve been so happy in Braavos, she just knew it. But the dream was ending and they would die here. She wondered how Death would greet her. With music perhaps. She would almost swear she could hear horns blowing in the distance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to confess I really enjoyed writing Sansa's dramatic as fuck thoughts there at the end of the chapter. My little nod to the angsty-teen/tragic romance-loving Marianne Dashwoods of the world, I guess.


	13. Reunions & Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some mentions of violence in this chapter. There will be more in the next. I've not updated the tags because I'm not planning for the descriptions to be graphic.

 

Like a fog burning off slowly to reveal a clear sky, Sansa became vaguely aware of raised voices and wondered why men were shouting outside her chambers. It was brighter than it should be.

_No, I’m not at home. I’m with Jon and…_

Her eyes opened and she startled. She was on horseback and someone’s arms were wrapped securely around her middle…someone who wasn’t Jon.

“Please, don’t hurt us,” she gasped.

“Easy, my lady,” an older man’s voice whispered in her ear. She trembled, remembering the men who had been chasing them, the dogs and the jeering shouts. But when she dared look back, she recognized Ser Roderick with his long white whiskers. “You’re safe, my lady, but your brother has his hands full at the moment.”

Unable to relish her relief over who held her, she searched frantically for her husband among the nearly two dozen mounted men she saw. The dogs were there as well. She’d never seen more hellish-looking hounds as they prowled, causing the horses to whicker nervously. Where was Ghost?

She spied Robb’s back in the middle of them all. His ears were glowing red as he spoke angrily to one man in particular, a man with curious pale eyes.

“I had given my command and I expected it to be obeyed! I did not ask your father for your aid and, while I am grateful that you have recovered my sister, I told you none were to be killed until I gave the word!”

Who had been killed? Terror consumed Sansa. Where was Jon? What had they done while she was unconscious?

She moved suddenly, surprising Ser Roderick as she attempted to dismount. Her foot became entangled in the stirrup and she fell to the ground, drawing the men’s attention to her.

“Sansa!” Robb cried, racing to her side. He glared up at Ser Roderick. It was not the old knight’s fault. And none of that mattered. “Has her fever broke?! Why did you let her fall?!”

“Where is he?! What have you done?!” she cried at her brother.

“Are you still ill?” Robb put a hand on her brow and she furiously slapped it away.

“I am not ill! Where is he, Robb?! What have you done with my husband?!”

“Husband?” he said, his voice noticeably quieter. “Sansa…”

“Where is Jon?!” she screamed again, not caring what they all thought. She was past caring. She was hysterical with worry over her husband. Had they killed him? Was that why she did not see him?

“Your captor is with the rest of the wildlings my men and I captured yesterday before we found you. You were unconscious when we came upon you shortly after these men had,” he said, nodding towards the man with pale eyes. She could breathe again. He was still alive. Robb stroked her hair back out of her face. His voice was choked with emotion when he said, “I promise I’ll take you home to Mother, sweet girl, as soon as we’ve finished questioning the prisoners. And once _I’ve_ decided their fates!” he finished more loudly with a harsh look at the other man.

It was not enough answers for her by half but knowing Jon was still alive had calmed her somewhat. Sansa looked at her brother, really looked at him now. His beard was fuller and unruly. His eyes and the dark circles under them spoke of little sleep of late. His face was thinner, harder. She wondered how long it had been since he had lain in his bed or permitted himself to relish his meat and mead.

_Because of you._

She’d been gone well over a moon. And while she’d endured hardships the past few weeks, they’d had that quiet time in their cottage. They’d been together, happy and in love. Even in the rain, even when things were miserable, even when the illness had weakened first her and then him, she’d had Jon by her side and he’d had her.

But her beloved older brother, her first hero after Father, had probably been searching for her with little respite since her disappearance, not knowing if she was alive or dead, not knowing that she was safe, likely imagining she was suffering the same horrible fate as their aunt when Prince Rhaegar had stolen her and held her captive in Dorne before her untimely death. Robb had probably feared she’d been raped and mistreated all this time and perhaps even killed.

The initial guilt she’d felt after fleeing with Jon, the same guilt she’d pointedly ignored once they had married and started off on their journey, reasserted itself most painfully. Her parents, her siblings, everyone in Winterfell who she loved and who loved her…what had she done? And what of her father? What had happened in Kings Landing when he’d arrived without her? Sansa had been so consumed with Jon, with being a good wife, she’d turned into a wretched daughter.

“Robb,” she whimpered. “I’m so sorry for the worry I have caused you and everyone. I never meant to cause all this trouble. I only wanted…” _to be free to love him._

She started weeping then. The other men turned away, except the one man whose pale eyes left her disquieted.

Robb pulled her into his arms and hushed her, whispering that he didn’t care right now. She was safe and that was all that mattered to him. “Sansa,” he said, brushing the tears from her eyes, “has he injured you? Has he…” He gulped and continued. “Did he threaten you? Has he raped you?”

“No, never! He loves me and I love him. Where is he, Robb? What have you done to him?”

“I’ve done nothing yet. He is my prisoner for now. He is injured…not gravely,” he amended at her gasp. “He is also afflicted with the ague same as you were. He was feverish and nonsensible when we left him with our other captives over the hill there by a stream.” His Tully blue eyes met hers intently. “Sansa, is he really your husband?”

She nodded emphatically. She could not allow her brother to doubt that fact. “We wed in the Wolfswood before the old gods the morning after I left. Robb, I ran away to be with him. I’ve loved him for some time now.”

She’d never noticed how expressive her brother’s face was until she watched a range of emotion crossing his features at her admittance in no more than a few seconds. Frustration, relief, worry and a troubled resignation were all in evidence.

He took her by the hand and bade her to walk with him. “We need to talk, little sister,” he said.

“We do,” she agreed.

 

* * *

 

 

She was like a skittish colt, pacing in the glade where he’d led her to speak more privily. She kept begging to see him. He would allow her that soon but not yet.

Her dark hair had not concealed who she was once he’d got close enough to see her face. There was some color to her cheeks again but she looked a fright. He’d never seen Sansa so dirty, so thin. The dull, homespun dress she wore was tattered and frayed. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest. But she was alive and that was all that mattered.

_She is also married it would seem._

She’d run away with this wildling named Jon. Robb thought it curious that he should bear the same name as the little brother he’d lost so many years ago, the little brother who’d been killed by wildlings.

_Or stolen perhaps. Was his body ever found?_

Robb did not know. He’d only been six. Mother and Father had stopped speaking of Jon in anyone’s presence after the initial, immediate shock had filled the castle with deep sorrow for a time. Sansa had forgotten all about the half-brother they’d shared. She had barely been three.

He bristled to hear how Ramsay Snow’s men had hunted them down with his hounds. If the man had suspected who she was as he claimed, why would he risk her injury shooting arrows at them? Was he mad? The fall from the horse might’ve killed her. But he could not say he was all that surprised given that he’d skinned one wildling for information and then killed one of the men Robb had taken captive against his express orders only a few hours ago. The reason given for doing so had not been to his satisfaction. In truth, Robb suspected the man just enjoyed killing.

Robb considered himself very fortunate that they’d heard the commotion of the hounds and rushed towards them not sure of what it might mean but curious. He’d ordered his men to blow their horns just as Ramsay’s party closed in on Sansa and this man she had supposedly wed. Two of the men had turned their bows towards them until they’d recognized the sigil on their banner and laid down their arms. The wildling had three arrows in him by then and was crouched over his sister, the direwolf at his side…a wolf defending its mate.

The wolf. The great white wolf had helped Robb put the pieces together more quickly. It was his presence that made Robb certain the dark-haired girl on the ground was his sister. It had run off before Ramsay’s men could bring him down. Robb had been right about that and so had his mother. The wolf was Sansa’s protector and also linked to the wildling.

His sister had been lying on the ground. In that moment, he’d not even known if she was living or dead. Rage at this man who’d taken her away from the safety of their home had coursed through him. Despite his words to Theon, Robb could only think of one thing, that this man had stolen his sister and she might very well be dead because of it.

He’d drawn his sword, planning to kill him. But before he struck, the young man had looked up at him with grey eyes, fevered eyes.

“Please…she’s ill. Don’t hurt her,” he’d said softly before he’d collapsed by her side.

Robb had exhaled shakily and sheathed his sword again. He’d turned to the other men, the ones who had been chasing them to get some answers.

If Father had said not to trust Roose Bolton, Robb wondered what he’d have to say of Ramsay Snow. His father would probably tell him not to be rash but part of him would like to take his head and be done with him. He was not so much a madman as a wild, untamable one who would act as it suited his own twisted agenda, Robb thought.

But Robb was no fool. He had six men with him and Ramsay had a dozen. Two of Robb’s men had been killed when they’d captured their party of wildlings yesterday. There was still four of them, including the infamous King Beyond the Wall, and they would be plenty dangerous. They knew their lives were forfeit here. What did those four men have to lose? He’d had them bound and put under guard, reducing his loyal force to Theon, Ser Roderick and two men-at-arms. He might need Ramsay’s help unless he wanted to kill the wildlings outright along with Sansa’s lover.

Her lover, her husband. Ser Patrek would not want her now and Robb was glad of it. After the way he’d behaved since Sansa’s disappearance, Robb did not want that man within a league of his sister. But given the Mallister’s ties to House Tully, he hardly wished to start a feud by killing Jason Mallister’s son.

_But what of Joffrey?_

Robb decided to save that worry for another day. His father would know better how to deal with Joffrey, he hoped.

But were they to do with this husband of hers? She had said they had knelt before the old gods and made their marriage pact. No man could come between that. His death would be his sister’s only way out of the marriage but she did not want out of it. She’d been with him well over a moon and Robb did not doubt they’d lain together many times by now. She was slimmer than he’d ever seen her but there was the possibility his seed had taken root and she would bear the man’s child. Regardless, Sansa would certainly never forgive him if he killed him. And yet, he might be forced to do just that.

“Where’s Ghost?” she asked, intruding on his thoughts.

“He ran away.”

“He won’t go far,” she murmured to herself.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon’s head ached and his shoulder was throbbing. There was a burning in his left arm as well. He woke to the sound of crows cawing and wondered if they were coming for a feast. He could smell death. He tried to reach out to Ghost but the pain made it hard to focus. Where was Sansa? What had happened?

He attempted to rise but he couldn’t. He was face down in the mud with his hands tied behind his back and his legs bound together. He only managed to roll to his back, pinning his arms under his weight.

A man was singing, quieting the crows.

_“Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,_

_The Dornishman’s taken my life,_

_But what does it matter, for all men must die,_

_And I’ve tasted the Dornishman’s wife!”_

Jon’s eyes widened and he managed to turn his head. He knew that voice as well as any child knows its father’s. Shrewd brown eyes stared back at him. He was propped up against a stump. His legs and hands were bound as well.

“Mance,” he croaked, his throat too dry for more.

“Shut up!” a man in armor shouted, kicking first Mance and then himself. “I’ll kill anyone of you who talks again!” Their guard but who was his master?

“I don’t think you will,” Mance smirked. “Your lordling told you to watch us, not kill us.”

“I’m warning you,” the guard said, pulling his sword and pointing it at Mance’s chin.

“You’re a kneeler. You’ll do what your told,” Mance said, spitting on the ground before his feet for emphasis. “Or maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll kill me and the young lord of Winterfell will thank you for it, hmm?” The guard looked uncertain. “Maybe he won’t though, eh? He didn’t seem so pleased when poor Goreth was killed this morning.”

Jon saw Mance nod to his left. He spied a body several feet away. Jon recognized the dirty white bear skins he’d used for his pants. Goreth had been a good man. H _is death is my fault. Mance has risked himself for me. What will that mean for our people if Mance dies here?_

“But kill me for singing if you like. What does it matter for all men must die,” Mance quoted to the guard, staring the man in the eye. The guard sheepishly dropped his sword and stomped a few paces away. “We’ve come a long way to find you, lad,” Mance growled then.

He knew there was so many things he should say. He knew Mance was furious. He knew they all saw him as a traitor. But all he could think to ask was, “Where is Sansa? Where is my wife?”

“You’re wife?” Mance asked with a grimace. “So you plucked the Rose of Winterfell, did you, lad? That’s a shame.” Jon scowled in confusion. Mance had always been fond of the tale of Bael the Bard. He expected him to hate him for leaving them but he didn’t know why he’d care that he’d stolen Sansa. “I’d say your wife is with her brother or maybe already half way back to Winterfell. They’ll finish with us soon enough.”

“Aye, we’re dead men and it’s all your fault, little twat!” another familiar voice snarled. Jon knew that voice well, too. What child wouldn’t recognize the voice of his tormentor?

“Varamyr?”

He had not noticed him till then though he was not so far away.

“That’s right, bastard. All this way Mance led us for you, to find his beloved boy. He means to bring you back but I’d only hoped to see you dead. Well, here he is, Mance. A boy who ran off to bed a girl as though he’d never seen one before in his life. A fool for his cock. Tell us again how important the boy is. Tell it to Olmort and Goreth. Tell it to Hal and Roren. Do you think bringing him back will be a comfort to those men’s wives or children? Was she worth it? Was her cunt everything you dreamed it’d be, little twat? I wonder how she’ll like you without your pretty face,” he sneered before his eyes rolled back.

Above the crows cawed raucously before one black bird swooped towards him. Jon ducked his chin and shut his eyes tightly. The bird’s talons felt sharp as knives.

 

* * *

 

 

_Horses and dogs and shit._

_And men. He dared not get closer._

_Under it all, he smelled a dead man._

_The wolf padded silently through the sparse woods, never straying far from the girl. He knew her musky sweetness even under the scent of dirt and sweat._

_He sought the man but he could not leave the girl. She was his to watch over._

_He licked at the wound in his hind quarters where the pointed stick had pierced him. It was nothing. He might suffer worse mounting a she-wolf in heat._

_Red hair, white skin. The man's mate._

_She walked with the man who was her kin. There were other men with them who desired her. The wolf could sense it. He could almost smell it. If her kin did not keep her safe, he would have to._

_Without warning, he felt pain along his muzzle and right eye._

_He howled._

_No, it was the man who howled._

 

* * *

 

 

Ramsay drew the blade across the whet stone and watched Robb Stark with fury in his heart.

He had accused him of endangering the girl. Where was the fun in the chase if there was not a bit of danger to it? Danger for the chased anyway.

She was a beauty, even with her hair darkened. He wondered if she’d gone to the trouble of darkening the hair on her cunt. Ramsay doubted it. He would very much like to be certain. He’d very much like to see those pretty blue eyes wide with terror again. There was nothing so intoxicating as a frightened girl just within his grasp. Would she run? Would she scream? Would she fight? He’d love to find out.

Proud Robb Stark had chastised him for killing two worthless wildlings. He had threatened him for skinning one even though the information they had gleaned had been useful. The King Beyond the Wall wanted Jon Snow brought back to them. The man had not known why though. He hadn’t lied, Ramsay knew. No man could lie for long when they were being peeled like a juicy, ripe apple.

 _Jon Snow. Another northern bastard. We could practically be brothers_ , Ramsay thought with a twisted smile.

Starks and their precious honor. No wonder his father loathed them. The North would be so saddened if the mighty Starks fell. If Lord Stark’s heir died here in the woods at the hands of wildlings, it might drive Lady Stark mad. If his precious daughter was never found, no one would care about any wildlings who’d been skinned. If Lord Stark never returned from the South, what might happen? The next in line was just a boy.

_Father would call you reckless. Father would call you a mad dog._

_What if I don’t care?_

He sharpened the knife and would wait. Robb Stark had half his numbers and had taken prisoners that would need to be watched closely. So closely, he might not watch his allies as he should.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, gods!” a voice cried in the darkness, the sweetest voice he would ever hear.

He winced. Everything hurt worse than earlier. His face burned. Cool hands touched him gently. Light reappeared and he felt the air on his ravaged cheek.

“Oh, gods…oh, gods…” she said again.

“Sansa,” he whispered.

She was right in front of him, on her knees in the mud, tenderly cupping his face. His pain did not matter. She was here.

“What happened to him?” she cried.

“A crow, milady. Strangest thing I ever seen. That one there’s eyes went back in his head and the crow attacked this one. Damned bird was trying to take an eye. Then, the wolf came out of nowhere and tore that one’s throat out. Beg pardon, milady.”

Jon glanced over to where Varamyr’s body laid. Ghost had heard him and come in time to save him.

Sansa clucked over him for several minutes, checking his wounds, before a man was at her back. Robb Stark. Jon wondered if he would take his head quickly or run him through the belly and let him die slowly.

“Where is Ghost now?” she asked the guard as she pressed a wet cloth to Jon’s face.

“In the woods, I reckon. I wasn’t gonna chase him down, milady. I know you said not to kill any of ‘em, milord, but…”

“It’s alright,” Robb Stark said. “You had no hand in that.” Stark knelt before him beside his wife. He looked at him keenly. “Your name is Jon?” Jon nodded. “Do you have a last name?”

He shook his head but then changed his mind. What did the last name matter? “It’s Snow.”

“Snow? Jon Snow?”

“Aye.”

Stark looked troubled but said nothing. Mance was watching. Jon had a strange feeling both of them knew things he didn’t.

_Of course they do. You’ve been unconscious on and off for hours now._

“I need to remove your shirt,” Sansa said. It was agony to take it off.  She took a knife, _his_ knife and cut it away.  Her hands were gentle.  The arrows had pierced his shoulder and left arm. “He needs a maester. Please, Robb.”

Stark ignored her plea for the moment. “Sansa says you were born on this side of the Wall and were taken by the wildlings as a boy.”

“Aye,” he muttered. He could not help but feel a bit annoyed that she’d shared that. But this man was her brother and Jon supposed that made him his brother, too.

“Why does this matter right now?” Sansa asked in annoyance as she dabbed at his wounds. He hissed and her brow furrowed in concern. “You said he was not gravely injured but he needs to be treated or he could die of infection. Please, Robb!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll take him back to Winterfell,” Stark said over his shoulder. Jon wondered if he was merely humoring his sister or if he meant it.

“What of the others?” another man asked.

“Them, too.”

“Robb, are you certain? The…”

“Yes, Theon, I am. We’ll take them all back. There’s only three of them now.”

“Taking me back to Winterfell?” Mance asked from where he sat, joining the conversation now that it involved him. “Taking me to your father, boy?”

“I’m not your boy,” Stark said with a clenched jaw.

“No. No, you are not my boy,” Mance said but his eyes were turned towards Jon. Why did that make Jon so uncomfortable?

 

* * *

 

 

The lordling had walked away again. Jon remained bound but Stark’s son had allowed the girl to stay with him. Mance supposed he had enough worries and figured he could let his sister see to Jon and his injuries.

Those men with him, the skinner…something was brewing there. Mance doubted it would amount to anything good.

The girl was seeing to Jon’s face again. Her eyes were filled with tears. Mance could see why Jon loved her. She was beautiful but also good, a sweet girl. He regretted being the one to tell them that their love was wrong, an abomination in the eyes of gods and men.

“Am I hideous?” Jon asked, a wry note in his voice.

“Not to me,” she swore, pressing a swift kiss to his lips. “How is your fever? The headache?”

“Not so good. Yours?”

“Better.”

“I’m sorry,” he heard Jon say to her.

“I’m sorry, too,” she replied.

Their hands were clasped together. It would make a fine song though a sad one. _Aren’t all the best songs sad?_

“You did nothing wrong, Sansa.”

“Neither did you.”

“Stop being so stubborn,” he grumbled. “I stole you.”

“I wanted to be stolen.”

Their bickering was light and couched in a sweetness that Mance would not have minded if not for the horrible truth.

“Aye, you wanted to be stolen. And, are you glad I did the stealing even after all this?” Jon asked in a more intimate tone now.

“Very glad,” she said, a rosy blush forming on her cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” the girl whispered back, pressing her forehead to his. “I’ve been talking to Robb. He’ll take us home. I’ve told him we’ve wed. I’ll tell my mother. We’ll…”

“Stop!” Mance roared, startling them. “You must stop. Jon…gods, there is something you must know. I should’ve told you sooner, years ago maybe. I should’ve told you when you told me of your meeting with the girl. I…I didn’t think it would come to this. All this time, I was thinking of my people and never allowing for how much you might miss yours, never believing your blood would call to you this way.”

The young lovers reminded him of children as they stared at him, their eyes round with curiosity. They were just sixteen and fifteen, barely more than children to eyes as old as Mance’s. Their love was sweet…but wrong.

 


	14. In the Eyes of Gods and Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There's some definite dubious consent that could be seen as rape by coercion at the start of this chapter that involves Ser Patrek Mallister and an unnamed woman as he crosses into true villain territory.

 

The small village near Cerwyn lands had yielded news of Robb Stark among other things. His men had been ready for a bit of ale and rest. Ser Patrek Mallister had been ready for something else.

He would leave the wench richer than he’d found her. He’d had need of a wench for sometime now. And though she may have balked at first, the coin he’d offered had her sullenly lifting her skirts for him at last. She could’ve smiled at least. He was not some thief or common field worker. He was a knight and she had brats to feed after all.

Those had been sent outside before he’d turned their mother over a table. With one hand gripping her red hair tightly and the other circling her waist to hold her still, days of unresolved sexual desire melted away as he pounded into her while she stifled her gasps.

He’d been feeling frustrated since he’d met his betrothed and found her so uncommonly beautiful…and maidenly. And then, matters had only grown worse once she’d disappeared in the night, stolen out from under him before he could get her under himself. He doubted she’d be returned to him still a maid if she was returned at all. That was alright. He could find another girl to wed.

But then his father, suspecting his son’s apathy in regards to the Stark girl’s plight, had written and insisted that he fulfill his promise to wed the girl if she was found. He could not believe his father would wish him to sully his honor with a used girl. Was Hoster Tully or Ned Stark so fearsome as that? Patrek doubted it.

With a bullish grunt, he spilled and let go of her hair. She did not rise when he tossed some coin on the table. These northern wenches did not seem to know their courtesies but what would he expect of small folk? He bid her good day before striding back outside to find his squire waiting.

“All ready to ride, Ser Patrek?”

“I am. Did you visit the apothecary like I said?”

“Yes, ser. The old man had what you asked for.”

The boy held up a small bottle. Ser Patrek snatched it from his hands and tucked it into his surcoat. “Are you certain it’s not just goat’s piss in a bottle?”

“Yes, ser. He said he’d studied under a maester for a time and that the tea would work.”

“Very well. Do not mention your visit to any of the others,” he warned.

“No, ser. Shall I say nothing of your visit either?” the boy dared asked with a saucy grin.

He cuffed the boy for his insolence and then waited for him to kneel so he could mount. “You’ll mind your tongue or I’ll see it removed.”

They joined the rest of his men on the far side of the village and rode off to find Robb Stark. Perhaps he’d managed to find his sister. If so, Ser Patrek would do as his father bid and marry the girl unless she chose to back out of the betrothal.

But first, he would offer her a drink to set her at ease. He’d be damned if he was going to marry any girl carrying some bastard in her belly.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa sat in the hot spring listlessly as the warm water lulled her tortured mind into aimless wandering and soothed her aching body. Her hands moved without conscious thought, washing the mud and sweat from her hair and skin. There was no soap but it was an improvement.

_Will I ever be clean again? I don’t feel all that dirty though._

That was the worst of it. She knew the truth. She had lain with her brother.

_Half-brother._

Full or half, it was a sin in the eyes of gods and men. And yet, she did not feel remorseful for anything they'd done.

_I should’ve known._

_How could you know?_

He did look remarkably like her father, a younger Ned Stark. She could not help but note the uncanny resemblance now that she knew the truth. But there were other men who had the Stark look but were not Starks. Her brother Robb was a Stark through and through though he did not look like one.

She’d kept hoping that Mance Rayner was mistaken. But Robb had been horrified by what she’d admitted when he returned and found her distraught. He had told her of their half-brother who had gone missing when they were still children.

Then, Ser Roderick, who had served the Starks for years and had known the boy, had been brought into their confidence. The old knight had uneasily acknowledged the resemblance and the very real possibility that the wildling had not lied to them based upon what he could recall.

It was Ser Roderick whose back was to her now, guarding her as she washed and tried to come to terms with this unexpected and most unwelcome revelation.

Her husband was her half-brother…and she loved him anyway.

But did he still love her?

She could’ve wept over Jon’s reaction. He’d been so shocked. He had denied the truth repeatedly, long after she’d started to believe. And since he’d stopped denying, he’d barely been able to look at her.

Targaryens married brothers to sisters but no one else in the Seven Kingdoms did. And from what she’d learned, the wildlings were against the practice. Most of them anyway.

_“Babes born of such unions…it weakens the clan, don’t you see?”_ Mance had explained. _“I’ve told you of Old Craster and his heathen ways, have I not, boy?”_

Jon had looked appalled. She wanted to ask who Craster was but Jon had said no more to her or Mance. He’d rolled to his side, turning his back to them both. She had felt sorry for him. Not only had he learned they were kin, he’d learned that he had a father and a family which had been lost to him. She had wanted to comfort him but he had not wanted her comfort.

Finished with her bath, she pulled back on the tattered brown dress she’d worn for several weeks now. She immediately felt as though she hadn’t washed at all.

“I’m finished, Ser Roderick.”

The old knight turned and gave her gentle smile. “Very well, my lady. We’ll see you home soon.”

They were headed home. Home to Mother and Arya, Bran and Rickon. Her younger brothers had never even heard of Jon. And Arya had taken to him so naturally. She wondered what they’d all think of him now...or any of this.

“Ser Roderick, can you tell me what happened when Jon was lost as a boy?”

“He was traveling with a party of men to foster with the Wulls when they were attacked by wildling raiders. The Wull sent word to Winterfell. We had no details as the wildlings left no survivors.”

“How did they know it was wildlings then?”

“Not all the raiders survived. That far north and their weapons narrowed it down.”

“And Jon was assumed dead?”

“No body was found but most of the dead were burned as is their custom.”

“Do you know why they burn their dead?”

“No, my lady. Some heathen belief of theirs, I suppose.”

_I don’t think so_ , she thought but did not speak.

Sansa remembered what Jon had shared about the things Mance feared coming for his people, the dead who came back to life and the Others. She shivered and wondered what Robb or her father would think of that.

But then another thought struck her. “Four is awfully young for fostering, is it not?”

“Well, it is not unheard of,” he replied with a furrowed brow.

“But Father was not sent to the Eyrie until he was eight.”

“No, my lady.”

“No one ever spoke of him in my presence. Robb says it was as though he never existed after he disappeared. We speak of my Uncle Brandon and my grandfather’s death at the hands of the Mad King.”

“Your father does not speak of his sister.”

“True. But why was Jon such a secret? Never to be discussed again?”

“My lady, he was, um… _is_ your father’s bastard son. No one wished to cause your lady mother any…”

Something in the old man’s eyes made her certain and bold. “There’s something you’re not telling me. How did he come to be sent away so young?”

“It is not my place to say, my lady.” She stopped walking and gave him the sternest look she could muster. She wanted to know all of it and he would answer her. Ser Roderick sighed tiredly. “It is not easy to deny you, child. Your mother resented the boy being raised alongside your brother at Winterfell. She had her worries. There are stories of bastards contesting their trueborn siblings’ rights, as I’m sure you know. Your mother wanted him fostered. Your father refused. They quarreled bitterly over him not long after your sister’s birth. When Lord Stark left to visit one of his bannermen, your mother made arrangements without his knowledge or consent. The Wull still resents her for misleading him to this day.”

_And does Father as well?_

Sansa exhaled and her heart ached. Her parents loved each other but those were the sorts of wounds that were not easy to mend. Her father had been unfaithful during the war and fathered a bastard. That was painful enough. But then, he’d brought him home. Her mother had sent the boy away behind his back only to later learn he’d been taken and likely killed. She wondered how they’d come to forgive each other or if they ever fully had.

It was not fair. Neither she nor Jon had had a hand in any of it. They were innocent. Were they cursed to pay for someone else’s crime? If Jon had remained at Winterfell, she would’ve known him as her half-brother. Would she have loved him the same way she loved Robb? Or would her mother’s hurt and bitterness swayed her against him? From growing too close to him?

She could not answer. She only knew what her heart felt for him now. None of it was sisterly.

 

* * *

 

 

He saw her returning with the old knight, her eyes reminding him of a frightened doe when she glanced his way. He turned away. He could not bear to see her disgust.

He knew what he felt for her. None of it was brotherly.

From the age of four, he had lived a hard life in the austere lands of his people. _They are not even my people_. It had been a life where hunger, bitter cold and violence were never far away but it was the life he knew.

_And to think I might’ve been raised as some lordling…or some lord’s bastard anyway. And Sansa would be my sister…my half-sister._

He could not picture it. She was his wife. From the moment he’d clapped eyes upon her on Umber lands, he’d been half in love with her. He’d stolen a kiss and she’d stolen his heart. He could not think of her any other way.

Why had the gods chosen to torture him this way? And Sansa…what grave sin had she committed to be cursed so?

She’d looked paler and paler as Mance had told them the horrible truth. She was bound to be sickened by it, by him…and the things they’d done.

His rage had turned towards Mance for a time. Mance and his party had stolen him from his family.

He faintly recalled the dreams he sometimes had. Those hazy memories of being a small boy lying by a hearth staring at a man’s boots. He’d look up at the stern-faced man whose face would break into a smile. Sometimes, the man would lift him up in his arms and they might laugh together.

_But never around the lady._

And there had been a boy, a year or so older than himself, who had been his friend…his brother.

_You took me from my family_ , he thought bitterly as he glared at Mance. _You took me from my father. You tried to be a father to me but you never were. You took me from them_ _all. Why? Because some woods witch told you to?_

None of it made much sense to Jon. He was no prince’s son, no matter if the Starks of Winterfell had once been the Kings of Winter. And how exactly was he expected to save anyone?

_Always putting our people first_ , he begrudgingly acknowledged of Mance. _But what of what I wanted? What have you cost me? Do you even care? And what of my mother? Who_ _was she? Is she alive or dead?_

But in the end, his anger always turned inward. If _you could’ve just stayed away. If you’d only stolen your kiss and never seen her again or sought her out…_

No, it was no good. The moment he met her, he was bound to her. It was no different in some ways than it had been with Ghost. Sansa was in his blood, a need he would never be rid of.

_Sansa_ is _your blood. And she deserves better than this…better than you._

He had plucked the Rose of Winterfell and then soiled her with his filthy hands.

And the worst part was, if faced with the choice a second time, he’d do it all over again.

 

* * *

 

 

_“I have not forgotten the man you skinned or the other one you killed against my orders. When we return to Winterfell, there will be more questions for you,”_ Stark had said.

He’d been trying to get on his good side, hoping for a smidgen of gratitude, but the lordling had looked at him with disdain.

_He looks at me like I’m a speck of mud on his boots._

It sparked his rage and that festering sickness inside would not be ignored.

He wanted to play. She was such a pretty thing. He wondered what depraved things the wildling had made her do for him. Ramsay very much wanted to know.

_“A peaceful land, a quiet people,”_ his father was fond of saying.

It all sounded rather dull to Ramsay.

When he was just a boy, he’d overheard his father saying he was not right in the head. And perhaps it was true. He’d sent Reek to Ramsay and his mother and then later questioned who had corrupted who.

_You corrupted us both_.

Domeric had wanted a brother but Ramsay had always fancied the notion of being an only child…and a lord someday.

_A true Bolton even if I’m not trueborn_.

He wondered if Lady Sansa might like to be an only child someday as well. He could kill Robb Stark and his men and blame the wildlings. He could take her home to the Dreadfort, keep her there until she learned never to defy him. And in time, who could say if her younger brothers would live to see adulthood. So many tragedies could occur…

 

* * *

 

 

“What is going on?” Theon asked him that evening by the fire.

They had made little progress towards Winterfell. They were slow with the wildlings on foot and some of them injured.

“What do you mean?” Robb asked.

“Your sister weeps though you say the wildling has not mistreated her. He is as sullen as a gelding surrounded by mares in heat. Perhaps you could take his head and end his suffering.”

“I will not take his head.” _I will not be a kinslayer._

“You were eager enough before. What are you going to do? Send him to the Watch? That hardly seems like enough considering. And, why do you not eat?” Theon said, pointing at his untouched supper.

He stared at the fire’s embers. “I am not hungry.”

He thought of Sansa’s tears earlier and her misery. She was still in love with him of course. She had not known their relation when she fell in love. It would be ridiculous to expect his tenderhearted sister to fall out of love over the course of a day regardless of what truths they’d been told.

_“He’s so cold,”_ she’d wept. “ _He won’t speak with me. He barely looks at me. I disgust him.”_

_I doubt that. He does look at you when you do not see. His looks are not cold then. He is as miserable as you are._

Theon was still staring at him.

He had become his father’s ward not long after Jon was taken. Though he was older, Robb had felt like he had a brother again in some ways when Theon arrived. But Theon was always sensitive when it came to his status in the household and there were times he did not understand Theon’s logic or reasoning. He did not wish to share this. He worried what Theon might think if he knew the truth.

“I’ll go and speak with Sansa.”

He decided to take his supper along and started to rise but Theon’s hand caught his cuff. “There’s trouble brewing,” he half whispered.

His dark eyes flickered momentarily towards Ramsay and his men where they sat apart and Robb followed his gaze. They were laughing and talking without a care for all appearances. Robb was not fooled. “I know. Keep your sword and bow close.”

Sansa was already sleeping…or pretending to sleep. So instead, he sat beside Jon.

He held out his skin of wine. There was mistrust in his brother’s solemn grey eyes. Did he suspect a trick? He took a pull of the wine and then offered it again. Jon dipped his head and then drank.

Next, he offered a bit of his dried venison. The same suspicion.

_Why should you trust me? I am only your brother,_ Robb thought sadly.

“I would have those removed if it weren’t for the others,” he said, nodding to the ropes that still bound him.

“Are you saying you would trust me not to slit your throat if I was your only captive?” Jon asked, a bit of amusement belying the bitter tone.

“Yes…well, I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I don’t know you. I did once…but not now. You’re…”

“A wildling,” Jon said flatly, all hint of amusement gone. “And you’re a kneeler.”

That would not do. He had meant to make a different sort of progress tonight. “Aye, a wildling,” he said with a grin. He pointed towards where Mance slept. “Or the Free Folk, as I was told you call yourselves by your king there. But I am the heir of Winterfell. What makes you call me a kneeler?”

He was relieved to see an answering grin. “If your King Joffrey made his way North, you’d be on your knees quick enough, same as all the rest.”

“On my knees for Joffrey? Well, that’s enough to put a man off his supper for a week,” he retorted with a suggestive wink.

Jon’s lips quirked into a broader smile and then he laughed. “Aye, I suppose it is.”

They chuckled together and passed the wine to and fro as Jon ate up the venison.

He thought of his father’s advice about taking a man’s life. He knew he could never look Jon in the eye and hear his last words and take his head. Not only because it would make him a kinslayer but because he simply could not do it now.

“My sister was crying earlier,” he said after a companionable silence.

Jon grimaced and looked guilty. “She wished to speak with me. I was…I was gruff with her. I told her we could no longer be man and wife.”

“Because she is your half-sister? Or because you don’t love her anymore?”

His eyes flashed angrily…and with even more guilt. “I do love her. Nothing will stop that for me.”

“Have you told her as much?”

“No. It seemed best to…”

“Lie?”

“I have not lied.”

“I know my sister. She is still in love with you. She would like to hear that you still love her, no matter what.”

“No matter what?” he scoffed. “No matter that I may have put a babe in the belly of my half-sister? No matter that your father… _my_ father may wish me dead because of it?”

“My… _our_ father would not wish you dead. You don’t know him. At least, you don’t remember him. If you give us a chance, you’ll see that…”

“Quiet,” Jon hissed.

Robb straightened and cocked his head to one side. There was no laughter or conversation coming from Ramsay and his men now.

He heard a strangled cry from one of the guards who watched the other wildlings. He quickly drew the dirk from his belt, slicing the ropes that bound Jon’s wrists before passing him the knife.

“Lord Stark!” he heard Ramsay say in a mocking voice. “I’m afraid I’ve killed another man.” Robb could hear his hounds snarling. “I suppose you’ll have more questions for me when we reach Winterfell…assuming we make it there.”

“Take my horse. Protect her,” Robb bade Jon under his breath.

“You’ll need my help. And you’ll need more than just me,” he said just as Robb watched his brother’s eyes roll back in his head.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeere, Ghost! Heeeeere, Boy!
> 
> So, I need to stop guessing how many chapters are left! Sorry. My plan was this one (fight with Ramsay) and one more. But, Jon and Sansa's incest angst plus a little Robb bonding needed to be looked at first. There's not much more of this fic to go though and thanks to those of you who've been so encouraging! 
> 
> The bigger issues (i.e. White Walkers/Others) won't be resolved by the tale's end. It's a series so I may visit it again but this story will head towards a happy ending for Jon and Sansa (before Army of the Dead arrives and all that!)
> 
> I'm focusing on updating my WIPs (with maybe a little something for Jonsa smut week in between?) so hopefully not too long till I'm back at this one. There will be some violence in the next chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	15. Allegiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes: 
> 
> Tags have been updated as there is a good deal of bloodshed in this chapter and a good guy dies. 
> 
> This chapter was not easy for me to write as action sequences are not something that come easily for me but I hope it is satisfying all the same. When I write action, I tend to shift character POVs often and quickly so keep that in mind.
> 
> If Ramsay's motivations/actions seem crazy or stupid or hard to swallow, I'd appreciate it if you bear in mind that I am basing him off the book character who possesses a certain amount of cunning but is also an impulsive, temperamental man as well as a vile sadist and bat-shit crazy to boot who literally murdered his older half brother and father's rightful heir out of an arrogant belief no one could prove he did it. He was basically crossing his fingers that Roose wouldn't have him killed for it (which he should have but Roose had his own reasoning for not doing so). 
> 
> Anyhoo, the point is...this is fanfiction and not meant to be taken too deeply.

 

She had only been pretending to sleep. After what Jon had said, she didn’t know if she’d ever sleep again. She wished she could though. She’d rather sleep forever than live knowing he didn’t love her anymore.

_“But…we said our vows before the...”_

_“It was just a southern tree. South of the Wall where the magic is all dead. I’ve never taken vows before and we took those in ignorance. I free you. Marry someone else,”_ he’d said so cold and harsh.

A bitter bile had risen from her gullet, enough to nearly make her retch as he’d stared at the ground as if nothing could fascinate him more. It was only pride that had kept her from collapsing at his feet and begging him not to do this. And it was mere pride now that prompted her to ignore Robb and keep her eyes tightly shut.

But as she lay there feigning sleep, she could hear them talking. She couldn’t hear all of their conversation but she’d heard some quiet laughter between two men she dearly loved and had allowed hope to return.

_Jon was only pretending. He probably thought it was a lie he must tell to protect me. He might do that, play a role to do what he thought was right, might he not? He does still love me. Robb will make it right again._

Not that she thought her brother could suddenly make Jon no longer her half-brother but in her time of desperation she still held fast to a young girl’s faith in her beloved older brother’s ability to fix everything.

The lulling spell of their companionable moment was broken though with Ramsay Snow’s taunting words. Sansa’s eyes flew open. Like a deer that spies a wolf approaching when it is too late, she was petrified with fear, trying hopelessly to work out a plan as her own heartbeat grew louder and louder between her ears.

_I am not a deer. I am a wolf_ , she thought fiercely…until misery and fear interceded. _But a wolf with pitifully small fangs._

She swallowed hard and balled her hands into fists. She may not give them much of a fight but she would fight till her last breath. Just as it was with their headlong flight on horseback, she instinctively wondered if death might not be preferable to being taken prisoner by this man. But if he held Jon or Robb or even Theon or Ser Roderick or one of the other Stark men, Sansa knew she would yield if there was a chance it might buy their life.

_Not from him, you won’t. If Ramsay wins, he will leave none alive. He can’t. He has cast aside any pretense of honor and is openly defying his liege lord by threatening the heir of Winterfell. His only hope is to kill us all and spin his lies after it is done. But, what of me? Does he intend to kill me, too? Or take me? If he means to take me, how does he intend to silence me from telling the truth?_

She recalled the words of House Bolton: Our blades are sharp. She recalled their sigil as well. The possible answers to her questions left her gasping for air.

She scrambled to her feet, meaning to move closer to Jon and Robb but Robb was already there at her side.

“Get behind me,” her brother rasped, his sword in hand.

Ser Roderick and Theon quickly joined them to flank Robb. Theon was already letting his arrows fly. She heard a couple of barbarously satisfying grunts when his aim was true and dutifully dipped her head in reply to her brother’s orders. She had no sword. She wouldn’t really know what to do with one anyway beyond which end to strike with even if one magically appeared before her.

She glanced back to where Jon had been sitting in time to see his eyes return to normal.

_Ghost. Yes, bring him to help us. We need all the help we can get._

Jon was still recovering from his wounds but she knew he would fight. Robb had four men…no, just three now to help him. Ramsay had over a dozen in all.

She heard the wolf coming, snarling viciously, but Ramsay had his dogs. Despite his size, could Ghost protect them from those hounds and aid their men as well?

_We will soon see_.

Just before Ghost appeared, Jon sprang to his feet and roused the wildling captives and their king with a cry.

“You may think me a kneeler but we are all in danger! The Boltons will skin us same as them! Will you fight with us?”

With no other words, he started slicing the bonds of the men her brother had seen bound as Ghost tore through the brush, his blood red eyes frightening to behold in the firelight. Sansa had to believe her husband knew what he was doing. There was no other choice.

 

* * *

 

 

Mance’s eyes appeared black as night and shrewd like a hawk. He was angry with him. That was alright. Jon was still angry with him as well.

Even having known him all these years, it was still hard for Jon to be sure at times where he stood with Mance even as he looked him in the eye. For one painfully long moment, Jon feared the knife he’d just used to cut the man would free would be plunged into his heart.

But then there was a slight softening in his expression as he gripped Jon’s forearm tightly, clasping it the way the Free Folk would when they’d agreed to fight and bleed together as one, just as Mance had done with him many a time before he’d left them. Jon’s heart clenched with a different sort of pain then but also gratitude.

“We’ll fight with you,” Mance said gruffly. With, not for. Jon knew the difference and did not mind it. It was why he’d phrased it as he had. “Our weapons?”

“Aye,” Jon replied, jerking his chin towards where their bows, crude knives and swords had been placed.

He was surprised Ramsay Snow had not seen to it those were commandeered before making this attempt but given everything he’d seen of him, Ramsay didn’t seem to be the sort to think things out too far in advance.

_The same could be said of you at times_ , he ruefully admitted to himself.

His eyes sought his wife for just a moment. The words he’d spoken earlier had been like a knife in the guts, twisting and skewering him as he fought to pretend it didn’t matter, as he fought the urge to cry along with her.

_And now you might die with never a chance to take them back_.

She was standing behind her brother. He wanted to be beside her. It was his place to defend her. But, she was over there and he was here. And, if he did not focus on the fight, he’d be a dead man and no use to her at all with no way to ever tell her that he loved her with all his heart and letting her go was the worst pain he could ever imagine.

The Greyjoy was firing his arrows and two of Mance’s men soon did the same but Ramsay had more men. They would not wait to be picked off one by one. The dogs had been set upon them. The men would be next though a few of the Bolton men-at-arms seemed uneasy, uncertain. Perhaps not all of them had clasped forearms with the bastard and agreed to this.

It felt as though he was half in Ghost at times as he heard the yelps of the dogs and smelled the blood. He hoped none of it was Ghost’s.

He raced towards the stash of weapons along with Mance and selected a sword. Jon did not think all that often on the gods but he hoped they would favor him tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

Ghost was a direwolf and did not think like men. Smell and instinct were his only guides. He did not know who was friend and who was foe on sight. He only knew the man was part of him and the girl was his to protect.

But he could smell the aggression of the dogs. And under that…he smelled the rank fear their frightful voices could not hide.

The female alpha came forward first, a black bitch half his size but clearly hoping the pack could take him. No males in this pack but all were hunters. All were killers. Ghost had been part of a pack long ago. It was gone now. The man and the girl were the only pack he knew.

A few testing snaps and she drew too close, not accounting for the combination of his speed and size. He tore out her throat as the others snapped at his hind quarters. He spun and killed another, a brown bitch that had sunk her teeth into his leg. He tore at her belly with his fangs. The others slunk back.

Ghost would not eat her though. There were men to kill instead. Soon, they would begin to slink back as well.

 

* * *

 

 

It was not his wolf but Robb felt a stirring of pride as the living embodiment of House Stark did his gruesome part to aid them. He had precious little time to focus on anything though except whichever man he faced, one after the other. Ser Roderick was at his left, parrying blows. He could almost hear the old man in his ear, telling him to mind his periphery.

Sansa had been sent back towards his horse. He’d told her to get on it and ride away if the battle turned against them.

_More like_ when _it turns against us._

Even with the wildlings, they were still outnumbered. But a few of Ramsay’s men were not joining the fray. They wore the Bolton armor and sigil. They were not part the Bastard’s Boys as Robb had learned Ramsay’s particular group of companions were called. Perhaps they’ve sworn their allegiance to House Bolton and Roose but never to Ramsay Snow. He could use that.

He was distracted when he heard Jon’s bellow as a Bolton man backed him against a tree. The wildling steel was inferior. Despite the furor raging around him, Robb heard it crack and break. Some primal urge sent him hurtling towards his brother through the melee. They had been parted for so long but images flashed through Robb’s mind like streaks of lightning of a little boy with a mop of curls following him everywhere throughout the castle. His best friend and closest companion. He could not let him die without trying to help.

Fortunately for them both though, Ghost was faster. The wolf took the man’s arm off at the elbow before Jon rammed the hilt of his broken sword into his eye socket. The man was still falling to the ground when Jon grasped his sword and moved to the next opponent. He had good steel at least now.

A cry from behind Robb had him turning back in time to see Ser Roderick stumble to his knees, pierced by two arrows.

“Theon!” he shouted. But Theon had dropped his bow when the battle had moved to close quarters to fight with his sword. “The archer!” he pointed at the man firing…and then realized it was Ramsay.

Staying back from the rest of his men, Ramsay was taking aim again. Taking aim at Jon who was charging towards him. Robb grabbed the old knight’s fallen shield and went after them both.

 

* * *

 

 

Robb was not his brother. Theon was a ward of House Stark thanks to his father’s pointless rebellion. Robb was the Heir to Winterfell. He would have everything Theon only hoped to gain someday, though he was four years older. And Pyke was not Winterfell. There were times Theon wanted to hate Robb Stark but he never could. He loved him like a brother even as he envied him.

Robb was racing to protect Sansa’s husband, her wildling lover. Why? He could not understand it. It did not matter though. Ramsay Snow had a bow. He had already killed Ser Roderick. Now, Robb was in danger.

Theon dove to retrieve his bow and took aim. He did not miss.

 

* * *

 

 

Ramsay staggered as the arrow lodged in his shoulder. He loosed his own arrow but it went wide, hissing impotently past the wildling. He should’ve aimed it at Stark. Incredibly and even with his superior numbers, they were losing.  Robb Stark’s ridiculously meager force had won the support of the wildlings. All of them were fighting furiously for their lives. Meanwhile, his father’s men, the Bolton men-at-arms, were falling back. Some had even dropped their swords, the craven scum.

His boys had not deserted him though, no more than Ben’s girls had. But his best girls had been killed by the wolf and the rest cowered and whimpered at Ben’s feet where he lay dead. Most of his boys had met the same fate already.

Wrath filled him that his cunning plan was falling to pieces before him. Why was he cursed with such useless men?

“Men of House Bolton,” Stark roared, “I am Ned Stark’s son and heir! The Blood of Winterfell! If you are true to the North and your lord, you should be true to me! The bastard is not your lord and master! Lay down your arms and I will remember!”

The dolts threw down their swords and were on their knees before Ramsay could draw a breath. But he could still notch one last arrow.

The wildling was closing in with murder in his eyes but Stark wasn’t far behind. Ramsay had only a moment to decide. How much pain could one arrow bring?

Then, in the distance, he saw her. Her dark hair shimmered in the firelight with hints of fire playing in its depths. Ramsay knew exactly where to aim that final arrow.

 

* * *

 

 

Her cry was a delicate thing and stifled. But even at a distance, Jon heard it, a sound that would haunt him all his remaining days.

_No, no, no…_

His lady had already endured so much just to be with him.  Must she pay with her life as well? All of this was his fault.

His own cry was a savage howl of rage and anguish that might’ve been heard for miles around as she dropped to her knees as though she was kneeling to pray, her brown homespun dress blossoming with a darker patch under her arm.

The madman who had caused it was behind him and Jon wanted to drive his sword deep into him. No…he wanted to hit him, pummel him with his fists over and over again until he felt the bastard’s bones breaking to pieces beneath him. He wanted to tear him limb from limb with his bare hands.

But there was one thing he wanted more.

Heedless of anything else, he raced to Sansa’s side, shoving the other men who had started towards her out of his way. She was his wife, his woman and he belonged with her. If it was her end, it may as well be his end, too. He would not go on living in this world where the gods could rip away something as pure and sweet as Sansa so needlessly.

Behind him, Jon heard a shriek. He hoped Robb would take his time killing Ramsay. Beheading was far too good for him.

He collapsed beside her, panting and exhausted, grasping her hand with his.

“Sansa…”

“You were pierced by three arrows. I am only pierced by one,” she said bravely. Her chin trembled and her eyes were liquid with tears. “I will not die.”

“You will not die,” he sobbed, drawing her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. “I need you. I need my wife. I love you. I love you, my lady. I love you so much it hurts. I never meant a word I said earlier. You’re my wife and I’m your husband no matter what. I can’t live without you, Sansa. Please…”

She smiled contentedly and he felt her hand caressing his cheek, soft and cool compared to the hot tears that flowed there. “I know,” she murmured before her eyes fluttered closed.

 

* * *

 

 

He had never fought in a true a battle, much less a war, but he had killed men. Wildling raiders, oath breakers, once a rapist even…Father had prepared him well for what would be expected of the future Lord of Winterfell.

Never before though had he felt such a primal hatred and fury as he launched himself on top of Ramsay Snow after he’d shot his arrow. His sister might be dead and something feral and frightening inside snapped. Robb’s entire being was absorbed with inflicting as much pain on this miserable excuse for a man as possible.

Theon did not stop him, nor did the Bolton men that had knelt. They only watched in silence.

In time though, the bloody pulp that had been Ramsay’s face grew unrecognizable and Robb’s fists ached and burned. Beating this man to death would bring little satisfaction if Sansa was dead.

Exhausted and heartsick, Robb rose from where he was straddling Ramsay’s chest and sucked air into his screaming lungs. He looked back over his shoulder where Sansa lay. Jon was weeping as he held her and Robb’s vision clouded with tears. He looked down at Ramsay, unconscious and covered with blood.

“Strip him. Tie him up,” Robb growled at Theon. “We’ll give him to the wolf.”

He rose to his feet. They felt like they were made of lead as he trudged towards Jon and Sansa. Mance Rayner was there with them now, along with another wildling. He stopped long enough to kneel beside Ser Roderick who had served his house so faithfully and lost his life tonight. He closed the old man’s eyes and continued on.

“She’s not dead,” Mance told him. “She may live.”

Robb felt his knees buckle as Jon said, “I know she will. She told me so.”

 

* * *

 

 

Theon watched as Ser Patrek’s party of men rode up the next morning.

“We heard cries in the night. We feared something was amiss but could not find you in the dark,” Ser Patrek told him. His eyes roamed around the disorderly camp, skimming over the bodies that had not been dealt with yet. “Lady Sansa?”

“Wounded but alive. It is believed she will live.”

Ser Patrek grimaced in response. Perhaps that was the natural reaction to a lady being injured but something about it seemed odd to Theon.

“What happened?”

“Traitors in our midst.”

Ser Patrek looked uneasy and Theon’s suspicions grew.

When he spied Mance Rayner and his two men sitting by the fire, Mallister’s hand flew to his sword.

“No, Ser Patrek. They are not to be harmed. We owe them our lives,” Theon said cautiously.

Robb would be beyond incensed if this ass came along and struck down the men who’d fought beside them last night. Theon held no love for the wildlings but he wouldn’t allow this idiot to make trouble. However, he was grateful that Ser Patrek and his men were here as now they would have the upper hand again and have able-bodied, fighting men to see them safely back to Winterfell.

“May I see my betrothed?” Ser Patrek asked next.

His tone was not what one might expect of a concerned lover. He sounded more like a man worried over whether his property had been damaged or not. But then, considering that they had barely met before her disappearance and taking into account Sansa’s choices, perhaps Theon should not expect any more of the man.

“She’s resting in the tent there.” _With her husband_. It was not a true tent but they’d managed to erect a crude shelter of blankets to give Sansa and the wildling some privacy as she slept and he attended her wound. “I’m sure you can see her later. But I’ll take you to Robb.”

“I’ve, uh…procured a, um…healing potion…if the lady might have need of…” Mallister was rambling as the pair of them crossed the glade. He staggered back with a gasp when he spied the corpse of Ramsay Snow. “Good gods! What is that?!”

“That is what happens to those who threaten House Stark,” Theon said, his lip curling into a cruel sneer.

The direwolf had relished his feast. As if he’d been summoned by Theon’s thoughts, the enormous white wolf appeared, stalking out of the surrounding woods, his muzzle still stained with blood.

“Shall we?” Theon said lightly as though this was a common enough thing and enjoying the way Ser Patrek seemed to be ready to piss himself.

But as they continued on their way towards Robb, he heard a low, rumbling growl as the wolf followed them both at a distance. He hoped the wolf did not care for the taste of krakens. Eagles however? Theon could care less what became of them.

 


	16. Falsehoods...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a little over a year since I started this story but I'm thrilled to say I have completed it at last. Which is great because there's new stories I'd like to start posting but I promised myself I'd finish a WIP before posting anything new. Anyway, I'm going to post the three final chapters today so I hope you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> And, I'm gifting this fic to Natalie. Without your help, I don't know if I'd have ever finished. Thank you :)

 

She was burning but not as badly now. Her eyelids fluttered open slowly. The pain had diminished but was still there. It was dark…or appeared to be. But as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she realized she was in some crude shelter. From the noises outside, she thought it must be day.

She looked to her left and gasped when she saw Jon sitting on the ground beside her, keeping watch over her, his eyes resembling black ink in the gloom.

Her lips parted but she could not seem to make a noise. Her mouth and throat were parched.

Jon picked up a skin. He raised her head with one hand as the other pressed the skin to her lips. “Drink, wife.”

The cool water was more welcome than any wine could ever be as it trickled down her throat. Once she’d had her fill, Jon eased her back onto the furs she was laying on.

“Ser Roderick?” He shook his head and Sansa’s eyes filled with tears. “He died because of me.”

“He died because that man betrayed Robb. It was not your fault.”

“It’s my fault they weren’t safe in Winterfell.”

"It’s my fault _you’re_ not safe in Winterfell.”

“Not this again, Jon,” she said miserably. She hated for him to blame himself. He hates for you to blame yourself as well. His jaw was set. He could be so stubborn but he had a fair point. So, did she. None of it changed the way she felt. “I would’ve been wedded to Ser Patrek by now if I hadn’t left with you. I don’t regret leaving. I regret the trouble it’s caused and the death of good men but I don’t regret leaving. I don’t regret you.”

“I don’t regret you either and you should be resting.” He did not wish to argue anymore. “Are you comfortable?”

“Not especially.” She’d said it with a touch of humor. It was also the truth but his grimace prompted her to say more. “I’d be more comfortable with you to hold me, husband.”

She recalled his words from the fight, after she’d been wounded. She wished to see what he’d do now.

A breath she did not know she’d been holding eased as he laid down the skin and joined her on the simple pallet. It might not withstand rain or snow but the shelter leant them privacy to lay together. Since she was lying on her back for the sake of her wound, she encouraged Jon to lie on his side. He put an arm low across her belly and she felt his beard tickling her neck ever so often. Their hands met and they laced their fingers together. She was not in any condition for marital relations but this was a welcome intimacy after their hardships and the temporary discord and separation Mance’s bitter truth had brought about.

“Better?”

“Yes. Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, wife.”

He kissed her cheek and she moved their hands to rest over her tummy. She wanted to tell him that she’d not bled since before she’d left Winterfell with him but it was too soon to know anything for certain. How long had they been gone now? How long since the night he’d taken her maidenhead in their little cottage in the woods? And all the nights he’d loved her between now and then. Weeks and weeks it seemed. Well over a moon now anyway. But she would not speak of it today. She was healing and they were surrounded by others. It would be better to wait until they returned home and she could speak with Mother and Maester Luwin.

_And he is still my half-brother._

She bit her lip and wondered how he would react. Would he be appalled now that they knew the truth? Or would he be happy anyway? She’d already determined to be happy regardless of what the world thought if the gods gave them a child. No matter their sin, the babe was innocent, part of her and part of Jon.

_It will not be accursed. Our babe is not an evil. We did not know and we truly love one another. Surely, that must mean something._

Sansa was not a fool. She worried about what would happen to them once they reached Winterfell. Things would not be easy, she knew. She wondered what her Mother would say, especially knowing what she’d done to send Jon away when he was a boy. She also fretted over her Father’s reaction if he returned from Kings Landing.

But, one thing was certain. She would hear no more talk of them abandoning their vows. She was his wife till the day she died. She’d gladly return to their cottage in the woods forever with her hair dyed black by walnuts and eating whatever fish Jon could catch or rabbits he could snare if anyone thought she’d turn her back on him or their babe.

Comforted by his closeness and her own convictions, she fell back asleep before long.

 

* * *

 

 

Ser Patrek didn’t know if he’d rather laugh or cry.

_Or kill someone._

“I am sorry to be the bearer of this news and for any personal grief it may have brought you, ser. It was never my sister’s intention to…dishonor you.”

Ser Patrek looked at Stark sharply then. “Are you mocking me? What else would you call this if not dishonor?”

“I…” Robb Stark’s jaw ticked and he flexed his hand. “I understand she has…broken faith and you are within your rights to feel misused. I only meant Sansa never intended to hurt you. That is not her way. And, she is my sister so if she has done wrong, I take full responsibility for her actions and any recompense you feel you are owed will…”

The knight threw up his hand and strode away. He would hear no more of Stark’s empty platitudes. It was clear he was not all that sorry to inform him that his whore of a sister had taken up with some wildling, insulting Ser Patrek, their betrothal and all of House Mallister in the process.

_Fucking harlot cunt._

He couldn’t understand why that worthless vermin still possessed a head. If he’d had a sister and she’d run off with some filth, the very first thing he’d have done is taken the man’s head.

_And then had her horse whipped for shaming our house._

He sat stewing over his resentment for the next hour or more. He glared at the crude tent where Lady Sansa was supposedly recuperating.

_And him in there with her no doubt, rutting between her milky white thighs and suckling on those teats that would’ve been mine to have._

His men were tired but he’d like nothing more than to ride off now and leave Robb Stark and his small band of Bolton reformed turncoats and wildling scum to find their own way back to Winterfell. He’d prefer to head back towards Moat Cailin and put the North and its heathen ways and false women behind him even more.

But he knew his lord father would take exception to any outright insult to House Stark. His lord father was getting on in years and the Mallisters had knelt to the Tullys for ages. But things might be different in a few years…or might have been if _he_ had been lucky enough to have been born first anyway.

_Which you weren’t. And now you have no highborn bride to elevate you nor a connection to the Warden of the North or potential claim to Winterfell someday either._

A large shadow fell across him and he startled when he saw the direwolf so close, its red eyes ominous and threatening. It was just another reminder of this strange land he did not care for. Knowing it had feasted on human flesh recently only added to Ser Patrek’s disquiet around the thing.

But the wolf had not come alone.

“Ser Patrek,” she said demurely with her head bowed. “May I speak with you please?”

She had been wounded, he knew. She was dressed in a man’s tunic and breeches. Ordinarily, a woman dressed in a man’s breeches might have stirred him. There was something alluring about a saucy wench in breeches. But the white linen that bound her wound was visible peeping out from the neck of the tunic and Lady Sansa was quite pale and drawn looking. She’d dyed her hair, concealing the fiery auburn that had caught his eye. Despite her efforts to tame it, it was all knotted with snarls this afternoon.

 _She is not the beauty I first beheld when I arrived at Winterfell,_ he thought dismissively. He should be glad their betrothal was at an end but his injured pride and rage only grew. He wondered if her brother had sent her to heal the breach with her honeyed tongue and pretty blue eyes.

_He should’ve sent her to get down on her knees and suck my cock in front of my men like the whore she is if he wanted to mend matters between us._

His cock twitched at the thought but outwardly, he smiled graciously and nodded. He indicated the nearest rock and invited her to sit with him. He knew his courtesies and could use them when he wished.

“I know you must hate me, ser,” she began tremulously, “but please believe I never meant to cause you any pain.”

“And yet you have, my lady.” He was pleased by the guilty wince that caused.

“Yes and I am sorry for it. Please know that I had every intention of going through with our betrothal when it was made but…I love him, you see. I have loved him for a very long time now. And when he learned of our betrothal, he came for me.”

“And stole you away?” he asked with a sardonic smirk.

“No, ser. He did not steal me. I could’ve refused. Jon would never have forced me. I went willingly with him. I don’t say these things to cause you more pain or anger. I only wished to admit that I know what I did was very unkind to you and a great insult. If I could go back and change things so that I had never accepted your betrothal in the first place, I would. Joffrey meant to have me as a bride and my family and I believed marriage to another was the best solution.”

“And I would’ve been a preferable alternative to becoming the queen, my lady? Am I supposed to believe that?”

“I…” She trailed off and no longer looked so certain. She rose and made to brush off her simple tunic and breeches as she might’ve done with one of her fine gowns. He felt a jolt of loss. Her courtesy and ladylike ways should not affect him so. “I am sorry, ser. It is clear you still harbor a good deal of resentment and I do not blame you but I hope you’ll find another to wed and be happy.”

She turned to go and Ser Patrek could not help himself from calling her back. Why must she be so bewitching even with her hair dyed and in men’s clothing? The minx was capable of ensnaring honest men, it would seem. Even if what she said of Joffrey was true, the king was better off without some sorceress in his bed.

Ser Patrek gave her his most becoming smile and took her hand. “And you, my lady? Are you happy? It would be some comfort to know that you are truly happy at least.”

Guilt flickered in the whore’s eyes again and she looked uncertainly down at where he held her hand. The direwolf edged closer, sniffing the air. Ser Patrek swallowed hard, the only indication of the fear the beast invoked.

But then Lady Sansa looked towards where her lover was standing. Admittedly, he was a handsome youth though he was glowering at them both as Robb Stark stood next to him whispering in his ear. At once, her eyes were filled with a tenderness and a glow he’d never before beheld in them when she’d looked his way.

“I am, ser,” she said soft as a kiss.

There was no further point in denying it. Lady Sansa was nothing short of radiant, even with her dyed hair and in her current disheveled state. It only served to infuriate him further.

With only a second’s hesitation, he pulled the small bottle from his pocket. “If you are happy then I am content, my lady, despite my disappointment. If you’ll allow me, when we were forced to stop for a short time in our search for you, I met with an apothecary and told him of my worries for your health. He gave me this potion reputed to cleanse one of infection. I pray it may aid your recovery.”

Guilt pricked her yet again, he could tell as she accepted the bottle. Curiously, it did not prick him at all. The wolf started to growl menacingly at him.

“Ghost, stop it,” she chided. The beast ceased its growling but continued to stare at him. _Does the thing know what that bottle contains?_ “That is…very kind of you, ser. I’m sorry for the trouble you and your men have gone to and…”

No longer wishing to look upon her, he cut her off. “My men and I will see you safely to Winterfell but then, with your lady mother’s leave, I mean to ride for home.”

“Of course, ser.”

He bowed to her once more, the last time he ever meant to bow to her, and went in search of his squire.

It didn’t really matter if she drank the moon tea or not. She might not be with child or know of it if she was. But perhaps, if Lord Stark had more sense than his son, the wildling would find himself short a head after all and Lady Sansa might wind up bearing a bastard in shame. No one would force him to marry her now regardless and perhaps that might be a more fitting punishment for the bitch.

But still…the envy that ate away his heart after he’d seen her gazing so adoringly at her so-called husband made him hope she would drink the potion all the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Forty mounted men had ridden with them from White Harbor, an enormous waste of precious time in one respect, but Ned knew that Lord Manderly did not want to be seen as neglecting the needs of his liege lord.

_“My men will see you safely back to Winterfell, my lord, and then aid in the search for your daughter.”_

Certainly, there was wisdom in riding out with a large party as opposed to the dozen men he’d brought directly back to Kings Landing with him and Sansa still needed to be found but Lord Manderly was also determined to entertain him in style whilst awaiting the forty picked men to ready themselves…at a snail’s pace. Ned could care less about dining on lamprey pie and lobster stew when all he wanted was to find Sansa and return to his family. However, he had to trod carefully between making it known that time was of the essence and offending his host, one of his lord bannermen who presided over the best harbor the North possessed.

By the time they’d bid their farewells though, Ned had been champing at the bit to put his back to the sea and his host.

His worry for Sansa took precedent but he had other concerns as well. First and foremost, he still didn’t know what to make of Lord Commander Mormont’s dire warning he’d received before he left Kings Landing of wights and even Others at the Fist of the First Men. The Wildling villages nearest Castle Black were reportedly abandoned and Benjen had gone missing along with other Rangers. Mormont had led a great ranging north to see for himself what was happening and sent word back to Wall of a fight at the Fist. He hoped to learn more when he returned to Winterfell assuming the Watch had sent further word.

_If not, I will have to send someone to look into it…or go myself._

It was the Night Watch’s duty to guard the realms of men but Ned was Warden of the North and he took the safety of all his people very seriously. He would not leave everything to the undermanned brothers in black if a threat loomed beyond the Wall.

Days of hard riding had given him something else to focus on during the day but the troubles were always there to greet him whenever they stopped to rest their winded horses and their own exhausted bodies.

One morning dawned clear and bright as the men hastily put out fires and gathered their bedrolls. Ned stood upon a rising hill and gazed Northwest towards home. A league away he spied smoke over a wood where he knew of no village or farms.

“Jory?” he called to his faithful captain of the guard.

“My lord?”

“Do you see that smoke there?”

“Aye. Could be a hut or…could be something else.”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Aye, my lord.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon and Sansa were bickering within the tent and, while Robb had to admit he’d agreed with his brother, he thought it best to let the matter drop now. Neither of them had wanted her to go and speak with Ser Patrek but Sansa had been determined and Robb at least knew how she could be. Jon still needed to learn apparently.

“There was no harm in me speaking with him, Jon. I owed him an apology.”

“You owed him nothing. Robb…”

“Was not betrothed to him! It was only right for me to make amends. Look. He gave me this potion to…”

“You’ll take nothing from that man!”

“Jon…”

“I see the way he looks at you. He may speak fair but he thinks foully of us…of you. I don’t want him anywhere near you. You will not go to him alone again.”

“Is that why Ghost would not leave my side? Did you do that?” Silence except for Sansa’s huff. “Do you intend to have Ghost follow me around everywhere I go?”

“Aye! If I am not beside you, the wolf will keep you safe!”

“Jon,” she said again…but this time there was a soft lilt to her voice.

“You’re my woman,” he grumbled. “I’m supposed to keep you safe.”

“ _‘You’re my woman,’_ ” Sansa repeated, mimicking his deeper voice. “I like being your woman.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Jon replied in a husky tone.

 _And now I have heard enough_. “If you’re well enough for that, you’re well enough for us to travel!” Robb shouted on the other side of the blankets just as his sister let out a girlish giggle.

Jon cursed under his breath and emerged from the makeshift tent. “We weren’t finished with our talk.”

“On the contrary, I believe you were both finished with talking,” Robb smirked. “Come and…”

His voice died away as he heard it…horses. The wolf reappeared, standing as sentry in front of the tent just as Sansa emerged and joined them. Dozens of mounted men were approaching. He felt a momentary panic. What if Roose Bolton had had some notion of Ramsay’s plans or had been the master of them after all? What if more men from the Dreadfort were coming for them? Even with Ser Patrek’s men, they were still a pitifully small number of men.

Mance Rayner came striding towards them.

“Friend or foe?” Jon asked.

“Depends on who you’re asking for but I’d guess we’re not in immediate danger. At least, you’re not, Stark.”

“How so?”

“Look and see,” the older man said, jerking his chin over his shoulder.

Through the woods, they emerged slowly, fifty men at least, all mounted. And, Robb had never been so relieved in his life as he was when he saw the Stark Direwolf and the Manderly Merman flying side by side.

“Father!” he shouted with joy.

A black horse trotted ahead of all the rest and its rider climbed down with a great sword across his back. Robb would know him anywhere.

They were all safe. He could tell his father of Ramsay’s betrayal and Ser Patrek’s anger and Mance Rayner’s tales. They could go home and rest. Mother would be so relieved and his father would take the burden of lordship from him for a while longer.

_For many years longer, please gods._

And he could tell his father that Sansa had been found and…

He glanced back at Sansa and Jon uncertainly. Their hands were linked together. The fear and worry was plain upon their faces.

_What will he do about them?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ser Patrek will be get what's coming to him soon...


	17. ...and Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned arrives to clear some things up at last!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed the previous chapter, I'm posting the final three chapters all today.

 

With a pounding heart and sweaty palms, Jon watched Lord Eddard Stark walking towards them as he gripped his wife’s hand tightly. His eyes were trying to memorize every detail about the man. His father’s eyes however were never still as he took in everything around them. Jon did not miss the way he scowled when he spied Mance and Torson in their skins standing by the campfire. He wondered if he’d do the same when he looked at him.

_I love her. Have pity on us and be merciful_ , he prayed.

Sometimes, Jon had dreamt of him even after Mance had took him. In his dreams, the man would look stern…but not at him. He’d lift him up into his arms with a loving smile and they’d share a whispered word or two. When he’d wake, the memories would melt away like icicles in the sun.

And there had been times as a boy when he’d felt that being born on the other side of the Wall meant he would never truly be one of the Free Folk that Jon would wonder about both his parents and wish that he could know them.

_But now that he is here, I am afraid_ , he thought sadly.

He felt Sansa’s hand slip out of his own as their father drew nearer. He clasped his hands together to keep from reaching for her again. She moved to stand beside Robb but Jon remained where he was, silently observing with Ghost behind him.

Tall and strong despite his years, he had a long face that mirrored his own except that his father’s beard was liberally sprinkled with grey. The stern expression on his face disappeared the instant he recognized his daughter.

“Gods…Sansa!” he cried and rushed the last few steps as Sansa fell into his arms weeping. He cupped her face and Jon could hear him murmuring in awe, “You’re alive, my sweet girl. You’re alive. Thank the gods.” He released her long enough to pull Robb into a crushing embrace before he gathered her close once more. “Where have you been, love? Are you hurt? What happened to your hair?”

Sansa shook her head and then nodded as she continued crying. “I’m alive, Father. I am happy. I was shot by an arrow. I’m a wife. Jon used walnuts,” she chirped incoherently between her sobs of relief.

For a moment, Jon thought he might weep as well. He was happy for her to be reunited with her father. But, there was plenty of bitterness mixed with the sweet when he began to think of all he had been denied when Mance had decided to take him…and when Lady Stark had sent him away.

Another man approached, one who Jon recognized from King Robert’s feast, the man who had come upon them after he’d knocked the Crown Prince on the head and later helped him flee the castle.

“Father,” Robb said as the man, Jory, embraced Sansa briefly, “there is much we need to discuss and many things I would wish to tell you…alone.” His father nodded in understanding but Robb turned towards Jon. “There is also someone you need to see.”

Dark grey eyes so much like his own that Jon might almost believe he was gazing at his reflection in a pond turned his way. Curious but reserved was probably the best description of his father’s expression until those eyes were directed at him and him alone.

“Father…this is Jon.”

 

* * *

 

 

If he ever came face to face with a living giant, Ned Stark did not believe he could be any more shocked than he was at that moment.

He had not seen the boy in so many years. He’d only had his forth nameday a couple of moons before Cat’s mad act of rebellion and word had later reached them of the wildling raiders’ attack but Ned remembered him. The quiet boy with the Stark look who waited eagerly but patiently for whatever attention Ned could spare him. Lya’s son. He felt tears prick his eyes. He’d believed him dead all this time and yet he knew in an instant that this was his nephew, the babe he’d brought back from Dorne sixteen years ago along with Lyanna’s bones.

Seeing Sansa alive had brought him immeasurable joy. In his heart, he’d feared arriving too late to save his daughter just as he had with his sister. But why was Jon here? How was this possible?

And, just as he thought he could receive no greater shock, Sansa spoke. “Father…Jon is my husband.” His head snapped towards her as she whispered, “We did not know.”

“Gods,” he breathed, too stunned to say more. His knees felt weak.

“You’re the Karstark lad,” Jory said from behind him. “The one who hit the prince at King Robert’s feast after he hurt Sansa.”

Ned closed his eyes in an attempt to keep the world from spinning too fast.

“Jory,” Robb said solemnly, “I’ve news for you as well.”

“Let us go inside the…” Ned pointed at the tent and realized it was no proper tent. It could not possibly hold them all.

“There’s a glade nearby, Father. Perhaps we can have some quiet there.”

Ned was glad to be sitting on a handy log when Robb finished speaking several minutes later. In the distance, men were seeing to the horses and making camp, ordinary sounds that a soldier like himself was used to. But here in the glade it felt as though everything he’d known was being swept from beneath his feet.

_And everything they know_ , he thought with a glance at Jon and Sansa who sat beside one another on the grass.

Only Robb, Jory, Jon and Sansa were present for their discussion. He felt Jory should be included considering his uncle’s death and the fact he’d already met the boy. Ned trusted Jory with his life and soon would have to trust him with his greatest secret just as he would his children.

_But here?_

He thought it right that Jon knew first. And Sansa since it impacted her greatly as well. But there was still a great risk regarding the truth of Jon’s parentage. Robert was dead but his son sat on the Iron Throne, his son who was already displeased by being denied Sansa as his bride.

His lie had protected the babe from a king’s wrath but now it was a hindrance to their happiness.

“There’s things Mance would tell you, things you should know,” Jon said after Robb had told him of their search and Ramsay Snow.

“I will speak with him, Jon. There is much I will have to deal with when we return to Winterfell…but first, I’d like to speak with the two of you.”

Robb and Jory nodded left as the boy rose to his feet. He started to speak, to argue or make a plea perhaps, but Sansa was already talking with the charming volubility of a babbling brook.

She had apparently been rehearsing all of these arguments in her mind for some time now. Once she got all of it out, she was reduced to repeating herself; telling him that Jon was her husband and she would not leave him, imploring him not to think too ill of them but that she did not care what anyone thought either. She mentioned that kinslaying was a great sin in the eyes of the gods. He was informed that Jon had saved her from what would most certainly have been unhappy marriage and saved her from Joffrey’s attempted rape before that, that he’d sent Ghost to protect her and that he had saved her countless times since then on their journey. It was clear she wanted him to think Jon was as heroic as she did. Finally, she reiterated that she was Jon’s wife, that they’d knelt before the old gods and made vows. It would be wrong for him to stand in the way of that…and also that she would never forgive him if he harmed her husband.

“And, I don’t care about the truth! He may be our blood but I cannot see him as anything but my husband! The only truth that matters to me is that I love him!”

Her chest was heaving by the time she was finished, her blue eyes betraying a touch of fear as if she couldn’t believe she’d just said…well, shouted…all of those things at her lord father.

Ned grinned to himself despite the seriousness of the matter which clearly perplexed them both.

“It’s not funny,” Jon grumbled.

“It’s not,” Ned agreed, “and yet…Have you anything to add?”

“No, I think Sansa has said it all,” he replied before taking her hand. “Except I want to say I love her. She is my wife and I love her very much…no matter what.”

“And, Mance Rayner told you of our relationship?” he asked Jon.

“Aye.”

“Hmm. And Ser Roderick remembered Jon as a boy and what happened?” he asked Sansa.

“He did.”

“Well, I suppose the only thing left now is for you to both know the truth…the whole truth.” Their eyes widened and they looked half-afraid. Did they fear some worse revelation? Perhaps they had reason to. “But what I tell you here must not be repeated to anyone until we are safe in Winterfell once more. Even then, it must be kept closely guarded for it could mean all our lives if word reaches the king. We must protect him,” he said with his eyes on Jon.

“Protect Jon? What are you saying, Father?”

“Do you remember what I told you about wolves, child?”

 

* * *

 

 

The same village near Cerwyn he’d stopped at before loomed ahead and Ser Patrek was glad the journey back to Winterfell would be over before long. It would be a much longer journey home but he was sick to death of these Starks.

Up ahead, he could see Lord Stark speaking with the wildling again. They rode side by side and would lean towards each other as they spoke, a comfortable intimacy that Ser Patrek might have shared with Ned Stark if he was still his daughter’s intended. But instead, he seemed fond of the man who’d made off with his daughter and Patrek had only received cool courtesy and a reserved apology for his disappointment from Lord Stark.

Despite being dressed more like small folk, the wildling youth looked remarkably like Lord Stark. Perhaps the Starks were all kin to wildlings if they were blood of the First Men as people said.

_Bloody savages, all of them._

Lady Sansa was a few paces behind them, lagging behind and likely exhausted from two days of riding. There were glimmers of auburn showing through the black thanks to the setting sun. She looked pale as she rode next to the Greyjoy heir. Theon had seemed alright when they’d first met but Ser Patrek had taken a dislike to him since they’d reunited out in the woods.

_What would your father think of you befriending a Greyjoy anyway? The Ironborn are all scum same as the wildlings._

Patrek turned his mind towards the redhaired wench he’d had on the way to find Robb Stark and his ‘stolen’ sister. Perhaps he’d pay her another visit. Maybe this time she would not be so hesitant to take his coin in exchange for her cunt.

_All those brats…I wonder if I might add to her brood._

He honestly didn’t care but the thought brought the moon tea to mind again. He wondered if Lady Sansa had drank it. A ripple of concern passed through him since the apothecary who sold it to him resided in the same village.

_He sold it to my squire. He knows nothing of me. We never even met. And the boy knows better than to speak against me._

A chill of apprehension coursed through him though as he spied the white coat of the direwolf creeping along through the nearby woods. No one could prove he knew it was moon tea. He could even argue he meant to help the girl if it was discovered.

He glanced back at his handful of men. It was clear that Lord Stark was just as eager to send him back south as he was to go. None would dare harm him, would they? He was still Lord Jason Mallister’s son.

“Stop! Stop!” he heard Greyjoy shout to those around him. He looked up in time to see him leap down from his horse in time to catch Lady Sansa as she fell.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa awoke to find herself in a bed, the first real bed she’d lain in since she’d left home. She felt weak but more rested than she had in a long while.

Jon, Robb and Theon were all there as well as a stranger. She wondered where her father was.

“Is there any chance you might be with child, milady?” the stranger asked.

Sansa felt her cheeks growing warm in the presence of her brother and Theon. She knew very well that there was an excellent chance she was with child and that they were likely aware of it. But, it was not something she wished to discuss in front of them…even now when she was aware of the truth.

It was still impossible for Sansa to describe her joy and relief at what her father had shared with her and Jon a few days ago in the glade. She only knew that Jon had been as relieved as she was.

 

_“We’re not siblings,”_ he’d said hoarsely.

_“You’re my cousin. Our grandparents were cousins. Cousins can marry and there is no sin in it.”_

He’d wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up, giving her a hearty kiss before her father had cleared his throat and told them the rest.

_“I…I don’t know what to think_ ,” Jon had said in response to the rest.

_“I imagine not, Jon. But you will have time to think on it and we can discuss it further once we reach Winterfell.”_

_“But if he’s a Targaryen, Father, we cannot tell the truth, can we? Everyone will go on believing he’s your son or we’ll have to lie about who he is and we’ll never be able to…just be.”_

_“Joffrey sits the Iron Throne but I fear he will never be a wise king nor a just one. Perhaps in time, we can find a way to let the truth be known outside of our family, Sansa.”_

 

“Milady?” the stranger prompted again, drawing her from her recollections.

“Yes. Yes, I believe I may be with child.” Her eyes darted to see Jon’s reaction. The tentative smile on his face soon spread into a brilliant grin putting all her fears and embarrassment to rest. But new fears were soon there to take the place of the old ones. “Why did I faint? Is the babe…” She gulped, unable to finish the question.

“I see no reason to fear for your babe, milady. Fainting is common enough especially considering everything you’ve been through with your travels and your wound. I’d suggest she stay off her feet a day or so, milord,” he said to Robb. He smiled benevolently down at her and said, “As long as you’ve not consumed any moon tea, I believe a little bedrest is all that is needed.”

_Moon tea._

Like a death knell, the term made her shudder.

“Jon? Where is the potion Ser Patrek gave me?”

“I tossed it out,” he said mulishly. “I’m sorry. I told you I didn’t want you taking anything he gave you but I shouldn’t have done that without asking.”

“Was the potion he gave you something you might need, Sansa?” Robb asked. “This man is an apothecary and can brew you another potion perhaps.”

The flash of intuition that had sparked a few seconds ago withered uncertainly. It had seemed quite mad. Perhaps it was best that there was nothing more to pursue.

“I was just…”

“Are you referring to Ser Patrek Mallister?” the apothecary asked curiously.

 

* * *

 

 

Ned had not wished to leave his daughter’s side but Jon and Robb would see to her. This conversation did not need to be delayed any longer. Many of the men riding with him were likely wondering why he was entertaining the King Beyond the Wall instead of executing him.

In the end, it left him with more questions than answers…and more worries.

“If what you say is true…”

“Winter is truly coming,” Mance said wryly before sipping the ale the tavern girl had brought.

“Aye,” Ned chuckled despite everything. “Winter is coming.”

“The boy…he’s a good lad. The woods witch might’ve been full of shit but I couldn’t just leave him when there was a chance she was telling me truth, you see?”

_Not exactly.  You saw a potential weapon.  Did you ever see the child for himself?_

It was hard for Ned to accept Mance’s tales alone but combined with the words of Lord Commander Mormont, he could accept that Mance had acted on behalf of his people who he clearly cared for.

_Just as I do mine._

“The Nights Watch needs to hear all this…from you.”

“Piss on them.”

“They were once your brothers.”

“I was Free Folk first.”

“But they still need to know. I can tell them but…”

“Good luck getting the likes of Bowen Marsh to listen to you.”

“Bowen Marsh is not lord commander.”

“Mormont might be lost beyond the Wall.”

“I hope not. But if he is, the Watch will select a new lord commander…hopefully, a worthy one.”

“You could send the lad to them. He might make them see and…”

_You think he’d be your eyes and ears there,_ Ned thought shrewdly. “No, Jon is not joining the Watch. He is coming home to Winterfell where he belongs.”

“He’s your son. She’s your daughter,” Mance grumbled in disgust.

“She is my daughter and he is her husband,” Ned said neutrally.

Before they could say any more, her saw his oldest son approaching their table, his face resembling a thunder cloud.

 

* * *

 

 

Ser Patrek had fallen asleep in an empty stable stall. His squire had gone missing on him so he couldn’t even find his bedroll. The hay had itched him fiercely all night. The village had no real inn and Lord Stark had taken the only two rooms available. One had been given to his daughter and the other to an old knight who served the Manderlys and had no business riding so far or so hard.

His face burned from the scratch marks the bitch had left across his cheek. He’d got his way in the end though and this time he’d not bothered leaving the ungrateful wench any coin. He staggered out of the stable and spotted two of his men.

“Where’s Manfyrd?” he bellowed. His men shrugged with looks of disquiet on their faces before they returned to saddling their horses. _I’ll take the hide off the boy_. “Where in Seven Hells do you think you’re going?!” he roared next when the same two men mounted.

“Home, by the grace of Lord Stark,” one of them shouted back with no further explanation.

He headed to the tavern where he supposed he might find some answers. _Or a drink at least_. He found answers. He found his squire. He also found Sansa’s wildling lover, Robb Stark and Lord Stark all apparently waiting for him to appear. And they were not alone.

“Him!” the redhaired wench cried. “It was him, milord. He raped me last night!”

_But, I had her before. I had her before and paid her then. She’s nobody and I’m a knight,_ he thought but could not seem to find his tongue.

Then, he spied an older man standing with them. He pointed an accusing finger his way although they’d never even met.

 

* * *

 

 

She startled when he touched her shoulder and he hoped that soon she could sleep without fear, safe within the walls of Winterfell. But for now, they were giving her another day to rest before the final stretch to ride home.

“Shush. It’s just me, wife.” Jon sat down upon the bed and removed his boots and tunic.

“Did you find him?”

“Aye, we did.”

In truth, they had sought Mallister high and low but in the end he had found them. _I should’ve sent Ghost to find him_.

“And…what happened?”

The apothecary had told them of the loquacious young squire and once they’d questioned the boy, Jon had been intent on killing the knight. He’d been denied killing Ramsay. Surely, he could unleash his rage on this man at least.

But his uncle had refused and beheaded the knight himself.

_“This will breed enough ill feelings between our house, the Tullys and the Mallisters. I cannot allow you to make it_ _about personal vengeance, Jon.”_

Even as he was offered a chance to speak his final words, Ser Patrek had seemed to think that as a lord’s son Ned Stark would not execute him for raping some small folk woman…or plotting to kill his potential grandchild in its mother’s womb. It was not until he was forced to kneel and put his head upon the block that he began to wail and beg.

Jon was certain that no man nor woman present had felt the slightest pity for him. The head and body had been carried off by the villagers to be displayed as a warning that injustice was not tolerated in the north. They’d seemed quite pleased that Lord Stark himself had executed the man.

“He is dead.”

“Jon…”

He leant over and kissed her brow. He didn’t want to speak of Ser Patrek any longer. He’d deserved a less merciful death than beheading in Jon’s opinion but at least he was dead.

“I’m very tired, wife.” _Tired and heartsick._

Days had passed but his head was spinning and not from Ser Patrek’s treachery or demise. He still did not know what to think of all his uncle had shared. He was very glad to learn they were not siblings and delighted at the prospects of a babe. But the turmoil of emotions from the past several days had been overwhelming.

She nodded and asked no further questions. “Lie with me.” She opened her arms to him. He gladly joined her beneath the furs and reveled in her gentle caresses as he buried his nose in her hair.

He did not belong with the Free Folk but he did not feel remotely like a secret prince either. He was not the Bastard of Winterfell and Sansa was not his sister but she was part of him and he was eager to see the castle again through fresh eyes. He wanted to see Arya again and meet his younger cousins.

_And visit the crypts once more._

Those days and nights he’d spent beneath her statue never knowing she was his mother…that alone was enough to make him weep.

“My poor sweet husband,” Sansa murmured as she held him tightly.

He did not want to be some savior. He did not want a crown. He wanted Sansa and a home where they might live in peace as he watched his wife grow round with their child.

Once he’d shed his tears, he smiled and said, “I’ve never lain in a bed like this…at least not that I remember anymore.”

“It is a comfortable bed.”

“Sansa?” he said, laying an arm across her waist.

“Yes?”

“Um…nothing.”

Days and days had passed since they’d last coupled. Between their travels, their capture and their injuries on top of believing they were half-siblings, there’d been precious little time or opportunity for such things. And she was with child and should be resting.

He kissed her lips swiftly and nestled down to do the same.

“Jon?” she asked a minute later

“Aye?”

“Make love to me, husband.”

He did not have to be told twice.

 


	18. Winter is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa return to Winterfell and find a new life awaits them both.

 

“My lady?”

Catelyn looked up from the scroll she’d been writing to find Maester Luwin had silently slipped back into the solar after leaving it a short time ago. “Another scroll?” she asked rubbing her eyes tiredly. She’d had little sleep since Sansa had disappeared.

“Not a scroll but a raven from the Citadel…a white raven.”

Catelyn sighed. “Autumn is here?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And winter is coming.”

“Always, my lady,” the maester said with a faint smile.

The days has been growing cooler after the frequent heavy rains the past few moons. Last night it had snowed and she had wondered if it was an omen.

_For good or ill though?_

She glanced out the window to see the courtyard still covered with snow. A few hours from now it would all be muck and slush again.

“I’m almost finished with this letter to my father. I’d like it sent straight away.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Ned had sent word from Castle Cerwyn just last night. She knew he had not shared everything in his letter but he’d shared enough for her to guess a good deal. One thing she knew for certain, her father might soon have a disgruntled bannerman on his hands. He needed to be informed.

The letter had also told her to make ready for guests. Along with her lord husband and oldest son, nearly forty White Harbor men would be descending on Winterfell before the day was done…along with her daughter and her husband Jon.

_‘We have found Sansa and though she was injured she is recovering and is quite happy. She has also wed. We are bringing her and Jon home.’_

Jon was coming home. Ned had not mentioned anything beyond the young man’s first name but she knew in her heart it was Jon Snow he spoke of, returning to the castle where he’d once lived.

 _Sansa is alive and coming home_ , she told herself. _That is what matters_.

She finished her letter and sealed it for the maester to send and then collapsed back into Ned’s seat and drew a deep breath.

He had been an innocent child of four when she had feared she’d caused his death. A pitiably horrid little corner of her heart had been relieved in a sense but the rest of her had had to live with the crushing guilt of what her actions had wrought.

She still recalled the day she’d made her decision. Arya had been a babe at her breast. Maester Luwin had questioned whether she’d been afflicted with the mother’s madness after her deeds had come to light. It was not a madness though. Her quill had been steady when she’d crafted her lie to the Wull.

The boy had fallen ill with an ague and Robb who was always with him had soon fallen ill as well. Jon had recovered but Robb’s fever had lingered for days. She had already feared the boy might be a threat to her trueborn children someday. She had given her husband one son and two daughters. What if she lost Robb? It was a terrifying notion in and of itself but what would that mean for her girls? What if she did not bear Ned another son? By law, trueborn daughters came before bastard sons but Cat had harbored her concerns. When she’d spoken with Ned about fostering the boy elsewhere someday, he’d become unusually vehement that Jon would never leave Winterfell. It had done nothing to ease her worries. By the time Ned had ridden off the next day, Robb’s fever had broken…but Cat had already made her decision.

She had sent him away behind her husband’s back and against his wishes out of anger and fear but it had all gone so horribly wrong.

_And now he returns as your good son. Your actions led to this incestuous union._

Ned had written that Sansa was happy though and Cat would do her best to make amends with this marriage and with Jon. She would not go against her husband again nor would she risk losing her daughter forever over old hurts and worries that had never been the boy’s fault.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you think?” Robb asked from beside him.

They were riding towards the castle in the light of day amongst others and headed towards the main gate. He spied guards walking along the walls and had to check his impulse to look for a place to hide.

“I’ve seen it before but never…not quite like this.”

His cousin nodded as though he understood but how could he? He’d never scaled the walls of his family’s ancestral seat like a thief in the night. He’d never worn a serving man’s clothes and offered mutton to his father’s highborn guests. And, Robb Stark had certainly never hidden in a barrel to be delivered to his own home.

Now though, Jon was mounted on the finest horse he’d ever ridden and wearing clothes borrowed at Castle Cerwyn which Sansa had claimed were more appropriate for his station.

_My station._

It was a curious term. There was a bit of hierarchy amongst the Free Folk of course. The elders, the best fighters, the spear wives and raiders might be held in higher regard in some respects within the various clans. But overall, it was a far simpler matter and no one was expected to kneel to anyone else.

However, he’d spent enough time with Sansa and south of the Wall to see that he would have to learn to exist within her world’s far more complicated ideas about rank, where two men might stand just as tall or be just as strong but one would be a lord to be revered and the other a beggar to be reviled. He would do his best to manage it though for she was worth any hassle that living amongst the kneelers might bring.

Kneeling though…that might never come easy.

 _“Perhaps because you were never meant to kneel,_ ” Robb had told him last night when he’d whispered the truth to him.

He wondered how his uncle had kept his mouth shut all this time. Perhaps it was easier when he’d only had to tell the lie and not live as it. He hadn’t wished to burden his wife with all his fears last night. She had been excited for them to return home but nursing her own concerns. Once, Robb had been his older brother. It was nice to have an older brother again.

_“No one south of the Wall will ever think me good enough for her…and they’ll be right but for the wrong reasons.”_

Robb had chuckled at that and said, _“Who cares what they think? What matters is that you know the truth at last. You were born a prince. You might even have been a king by now if things had gone differently with the war. You were brought to Winterfell to be raised as a bastard and instead became a wildling. You were my prisoner not so long ago and Ser Patrek was to be my good brother. Now, he’s a feast for the crows while you ride beside me to return to Winterfell as my good brother.”_

_“Is there a point to your rambling?”_

_“Of course, there is,”_ Robb had laughed, his blue eyes crinkling in merriment. _“What I’m saying is, the gods aren’t done with you yet. There’s no telling what tomorrow might bring for you, Jon.”_

The main gate opened ahead, the one he and Sansa had walked out of hand in hand the night of Ser Patrek’s welcoming feast many days ago.  He spurred his horse to catch up to his wife who was riding next to her father. He thought of the many times they’d shared a horse and wished he had her up in front of him now. The soft warmth of her body between his arms would be a comfort but it was too late to ask now.

“You’re nearly home,” he said just loud enough for her ears.

“So are you.”

He smiled at her response. Ghost followed at their horses’ hooves. That was a comfort, too.

They were with a host of men but there were even more waiting for them within the castle walls. Jon glanced over his shoulder at where Mance and his men rode with suspicious looks on their faces. It was daunting and, even knowing that his uncle meant none of them any harm, he could not help the slight shiver that chased down his spine.

Standing in the center of the guards though were the Starks. Arya was boldly waving at him with her younger brothers beside her. Her glee at seeing him was nearly enough to lay all his fears to rest until he recognized the woman on the other side of the boys. Tall with hair a few shades darker than Sansa’s, there was no mistaking Lady Stark. Her eldest daughter had certainly taken her looks from her. And near Lady Stark stood a richly dressed man with strange yet familiar pale eyes.

His uncle dismounted first as the everyone in the courtyard knelt. He heard Mance’s contemptuous huff and had to bite his lip to keep from laughing like a fool. Lord Stark was already walking towards his wife and urging the others to stand as Robb jumped from his horse to follow his father. Curious eyes turned their way and Jon no longer felt like laughing. The fine wools and leather he wore made him feel like an imposter again. Would he ever belong anywhere?

“Courage, husband,” Sansa whispered from beside him. “Lend me your courage and I will lend you mine.”

His lady always seemed to know what to say. He smiled and slid off his horse before helping her down. They held hands and he allowed Sansa to lead him towards her family…his family.

“Lord Bolton,” he heard his uncle saying gruffly, “My son and I have some serious matters we must discuss at with you at once.”

“Of course, my lord,” the man replied, clearly caught off guard by his liege lord’s evident tone of displeasure.

Jon stared at the father of Ramsay Snow, trying to take the measure of him but Arya was already leaping into his arms. “I’m glad you came back,” she said quietly despite her exuberance. “I knew you wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her,” she added before embracing her sister.

“I didn’t think we’re supposed to already know each other,” he murmured, “but I’m glad to see you again, my lady.” Arya gave him a conspiratorial wink and nodded. “I’m afraid to tell you that some bad things did happen though.”

“But we are here now,” Sansa said as she turned to greet her younger brothers and introduce them. “We are home and we are safe, Arya.”

_Are we?_

Jon felt that same chill as earlier when he saw Lord Bolton was avidly watching their exchange and studying Jon. _I look like a Stark…because I am half Stark_. His uncle noticed as well and bid the man to follow him indoors.

Once they’d gone and Bran and Rickon had been introduced, Sansa led him to her mother. His wife and her mother clung to one another tightly. Lady Stark was crying and soon Sansa was as well.

“I am happy, Mother. You should be happy for me as well. Please, do not cry.” She held out her hand to him where he had stayed back a pace. “Jon, I want you to…meet my mother. Mother…”

Jon did not know what he had expected but he’d certainly not expected an awkward embrace. “Welcome, Jon,” Lady Stark said, her eyes still shining with tears. “I am…very sorry for the troubles you have endured whilst finding your way home again.”

A rush of white hot anger pulsed through his blood for a moment. He could feel Ghost’s approach behind him. What had he done to deserve being sent away from home in the first place?

But, just as quickly as it had come upon him, he laid it aside. The past was behind them and he did not wish to cause his wife grief over things that had occurred years ago.

_Things I barely remember now._

“Thank you, my lady,” he said as courteously as he could manage.

 

* * *

 

 

“You could’ve told me, Ned!” she hissed. “Did you think me an unfaithful, untrustworthy wife then?! Before that day, had I ever contradicted you in front of others or done a single thing against your wishes?!”

Her pain and anger scourged his conscious all over again. “No, Cat. You were always my faithful and trustworthy wife…until that day. And, you have been my faithful and trustworthy wife many times over since then. But if you’d known the truth, how would you have treated him?”

“If I had known he was your sister’s son? I would have…a motherless boy. I would have loved him.”

“Even knowing he was the grandson of Aerys? The man who killed Brandon and my father?”

“Even then.”

“And knowing that the world had to continue believing he was mine, knowing that others might see you doting upon another woman’s child and thinking him your husband’s bastard son, you never once might have been tempted to tell another soul that I had never been unfaithful or mention Lyanna to the boy if he asked about his mother some day?”

“I…I do not know.”

“I promised her, Cat. I promised I would keep him safe though it placed us all in danger. With Robert on the throne, I could not allow anyone to suspect the truth. But, I will regret the pain, the rift it made between us for all my days, my lady.”

“I’m sorry, Ned.”

Her back was to him but he knew she was weeping by the way her shoulders shook. There had been so many bitter years of sorrow already. He crossed the room and put his arms around her, dipping his head to kiss the nape of her neck.

“I know. I’m sorry, too.”

He had waited to have this conversation until nightfall when the rest of the castle was sleeping. He could tell Robb and perhaps Arya the truth but he owed Cat some privacy for this. It had not made it any easier.

After she’d wiped her eyes, she sighed and said, “From Dorne to the Wall, they’ll gossip about this...Lord Stark’s daughter running off to wed a bastard.”

“Let them gossip. In time, they’ll find new things to gossip about. At least, she is safe from Joffrey now that he has other concerns.”

A letter from Kings Landing had arrived yesterday. Joffrey was reportedly to wed Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden but rumors had begun to swirl from Dragonstone, the seat of Robert’s brother Stannis Baratheon, that Joffrey was not Robert’s son but the bastard son of Cersei and her twin brother Jaime Lannister.

“War will be coming and winter is on its way. Gods be good, let their squabbles stay south of the Neck. At least, I am well out of Kings Landing.”

“That you are,” his wife agreed.

To the world, the story would soon be known that Sansa Stark had fallen in love with the bastard son of her Uncle Benjen, a man of the Nights Watch, who had unintentionally fathered the boy on a comely young widow before taking his vows. The pair would have met during the feast for King Robert which Jon had come to uninvited and posed as a serving man for Lord Karstark in the hopes of seeing his father. Instead, he’d wound up meeting his beautiful cousin.

Ned had spun the tale for Lord Bolton after deciding that although he would never trust the man, he’d not had any direct hand in his son’s actions. Lord Bolton had been eager to prove his continued loyalty after Ramsay’s mad treachery.

 _“I should have drowned him as a child,”_ Roose had said in a voice completely void of emotion. _“He caused me nothing but grief.”_

Ned wondered at a man who could speak so of a child…even a child who had grown into such as Ramsay. At least, he could make use of him to spread his lie.

Ned only prayed that he could get word to Benjen before anyone else did, assuming he ever turned back up at the Wall, to congratulate him on the birth of his son…sixteen years earlier.

 _Poor Benjen. He would do this for Lya and her boy though…as I did. I was never meant for such intrigue_ s, Ned though ruefully.

Regardless, he would play this game to keep Jon and their family safe.

_But if there ever comes a day when the truth might be safely shared…_

No, that was a dream for spring perhaps.

 

* * *

 

 

The winds were brisk this morning and the skies were grey. Some of the men claimed they smelled rain coming but Jon had scoffed and murmured under his breath, “Not rain…snow.”

He stood in the courtyard and adjusted the new gloves his wife had made and gifted him this morning in preparation for his ride north with his uncle. He wished he’d had something to give her in return.

 _“You’ve already given me something,”_ she’d replied with an endearing twinkle in her blue eyes.

Mance and his depleted party were being escorted back to the Wall where a parlay of sorts was to occur. Lord Stark had called upon several of his bannermen to attend or to send a representative. Six of Lord Manderly’s men including his son would be riding with them. Robb had volunteered to go on behalf of his father but he was told to remain.

_“I will go myself, Robb. I have hopes of seeing my brother alive again…gods willing. You will be lord again until I return.”_

So, Ned Stark was riding to Castle Black and his nephew and goodson Jon Snow was to go as well.

Jon did not particularly wish to go but he could not hide away with his wife in their chambers indefinitely. There was a storm coming if what Mance said was true and ignoring it would not make it go away.

_And, I have more than my own skin to think of from now on._

Maester Luwin had confirmed what Sansa had suspected. She was with child though it was early. Jon had a wife and soon a child to keep safe. He hated leaving but part of leaving was to protect her.

He glanced at the Free Folk as they prepared to ride. At one time, he might have considered them like brothers. He had considered one of them like a father of sorts for much of his life.

_But not now._

Mance’s decision to take him did not anger him. That was the way of his people and he could have killed him that day. But, his choices afterwards, the decision to lie and conceal certain truths as Jon grew into manhood, still angered him greatly in hindsight. Jon knew in his heart he would forgive him in time but, having spent the past several days getting to know his cousins, he was aware now of all he’d lost the day Lady Stark sent him away and the day Mance Rayner had captured a ‘promised prince.’

But his uncle was right. Anger and vengeance might keep a man going for a while but they were a bitter brew to drink day in and day out. And, while life beyond the Wall had been hard, it had not been without its merits. His uncle said it had given him an understanding of the people there that few if any south of the Wall possessed. It might be valuable when it came time to get men to work together as one. The Free Folk and the life he had known with them would always be part of him but it was his past and a new life was before him now.

_I will never know my real father but the one who meant to raise me as his son is part of my life again._

Jon had spent many days thinking over all he had learned in the woods near the White Knife. The Targaryens were gone from Westeros just as their dragons were. The only surviving members of that family that Jon knew of beyond himself were rumored to be in hiding in Essos but they were only strangers in a faraway place to him. His mother’s family was what mattered to him…his wife’s family.

_My family._

He grinned to himself when he heard the panting at his side.

“Don’t you know I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, boy?” He knelt in front of the direwolf and stroked his white fur. “Ghost…protect her. Watch over her for me,” he said earnestly. She was safe within the walls of Winterfell but Jon had stolen her once. He did not intend to allow any others the same chance. “Mind you…,” he added with a grin, “I will want plenty of glimpses of her while I’m away.”

The wolf licked his face and Jon heard a melodious giggle behind him. “Am I to be unclothed whenever Ghost comes to my chambers by night then?”

“Aye, that would be much appreciated,” he laughed, rising to take her in his arms. “I will miss you, wife.”

“And I you, husband. Maester Luwin has written to Maester Aemon at Castle Black. Promise you’ll continue your lessons whilst you’re gone?”

Jon rolled his eyes. Another maester waited to plague him every waking moment apparently. It was an element of being a lordling-in-training he was not very fond of. He didn’t mind learning to read and write but, along with history, geography, military strategy and other things, it became tedious. He would need to know all of it as well as his sword and bow in this world though.

“I’d rather stick to the training yard,” he admitted.

“I suspected as much,” his wife laughed.

He kissed her softly, relishing her sweet scent as the men began to mount. He wished he could chase her silent tears away but his uncle had given the signal to ride. “I’ll return before two moons have passed and then I’ll take you to a new home, wife.”

She nodded happily with a lovely smile upon her face as Arya came along to put an arm around her sister and wave goodbye.

His uncle had given them what he’d termed a small keep in the New Gift, Pine Branch Hall.

_“You will be close enough to the Wall to speak for me and aid in organizing the defense of the North when the time comes. And, you and Sansa will have a place of your own…but not so far away that Catelyn and I will never see you or our grandchild.”_

Jon turned his horse to follow the others but he could not resist a look back at his beloved wife. It had begun to snow at last and the flakes drifted down, landing in her hair that was its natural auburn once more.

 _Put your hood up_ , he thought. _The snowflakes are melting in your hair._

She did before she waving once more.

 

* * *

 

 

**Epilogue**

 

Sixteen name days she had known. Reputed throughout the North as a great beauty, she was still called the Northern Rose as well but many tittered over how the Rose had been plucked many moons ago by her bastard cousin at a feast. It was rumored that King Joffrey himself had taken an interest in her. She had even been betrothed to some Southron knight at one point. But instead, she had wed Jon Snow, a wildling who had been born a prince…not that anyone outside of their family and Jory knew that.

There were those who whispered Lady Sansa had been ruined and forced to wed in haste.

Sansa did not mind the whispers. She was a wife and soon would be a mother. And, what mattered most to Sansa was that she was married to the man she loved. At one time, their loved had seemed as unlikely to find a happy ending as a direwolf being able to climb the Wall but life could take unexpected turns and even children lost in the woods could sometimes find their way home again.

Pine Branch Hall was a modest wooden motte-and-bailey castle less than a day’s ride from Castle Black. The great hall was much smaller than Winterfell’s. It could host three dozen in a pinch at most. But that did not bother Sansa. She was proud of their home and took her duties as lady of the keep seriously.

Of course, poor Jon’s mouth had hung open the day they’d ridden with her father to see it for the first time.

_“Your father said it was small!”_

_“It is small…for a castle.”_

_“And we’re going to live there, just us and the babe?”_

_“We’ll have servants and guards.”_

_“A hundred people could live there!”_

She’d laughed and told him she did not plan on giving him quite that many children. He’d giving her a saucy grin and said something terribly improper then.

 _What would he think of the Red Keep in Kings Landing?_ she wondered. It did not matter. That would never be their home and Sansa was just as glad of it.

With her husband away again, she was as busy as ever though her time was drawing near. Her mother and Arya were making the journey north to stay with her until after the babe was born. Her mother could aid her through the birth along with the young maester Jon had taken on with Maester Aemon’s recommendation.

“My lady?” the man himself said, interrupting the scratch of her quill as she wrote to Robb.

“Yes, Maester Samwell?”

“Riders approach. The guards believe it is your husband’s party.”

With a gasp, Sansa rose and lifted her skirts to run to him until the maester’s admonishment over running in her state slowed her steps. She still hurried. She exited the keep just as the castle’s gate opened and her husband rode through with half a dozen men.

“Jon!”

He quickly slid down off his horse and raced to her, gathering her into his arms. She knew he did not care one whit what others thought as he kissed her hungrily. She hoped he never would.

“I’ve missed my wife.”

“I’ve missed you as well. What happened to your hand?” she asked, noticing the bindings.

“I burnt it in an accident. Tis nothing. I’m famished, wife.”

“Come in and have a bite and then tell me everything.” S

he led him to the quiet of their chambers and had him sit and remove his boots before she ordered a plate of food brought and some ale. The servant arrived bearing a tray and Jon stared at it like always, never quite believing she knew that food and drink could be brought to him in the blink of an eye with no hunting or stealing necessary on his part.

She picked up her needlework so he would feel free to sate his appetite and waited for him to speak.

“Still no sign of Benjen…my father.”

He was quick but sometimes in their chambers, he would attempt to drop the ruse but Sansa urged him to remember it at all times.

_To keep you safe, my love._

Sansa bit her lip and nodded, disappointed but not surprised. He had been missing nearly a year now.

He told her of the continued uneasy truce in place between the Free Folk north of the Wall and the Black Brothers at Castle Black. The threat of the Others that Lord Commander Mormont had warned the men of at the parlay on top of what Mance had shared had brought most rational men into agreement that there could be only two sides in the war to come; the living and the dead. But, men being men, it was not always easy to put aside past enmities.

“Mance wants to bring them all south and the Nights Watch is merely quibbling over conditions now. Oh…the Old Bear gave me something.”

She had spied it, of course. She knew her husband’s sword, the one her father had asked Mikken to forge for him before they’d left Winterfell for the last time. The one he had been wearing when he returned was not it.

He drew the sword from his sheath with a bit of a flourish. Sansa knew what it was at once having seen Ice plenty of times. The Valyrian steel glimmered in the grey light that came in from the window.

“That is an exceedingly handsome sword.” She knew the lord commander had taken a liking to Jon but was surprised that he would give such a sword away.

“Aye, it is. He said he had given it to his son when he joined the Watch but his son returned it before he fled in disgrace.”

“What prompted him to give it to you?”

“He is grateful for my help, I suppose.” Sansa raised her eyebrows at him. “I, uh…there was a bit of trouble…with one of the bodies some of the rangers discovered.”

“Trouble with the bodies?”

“It was nothing, wife.”

“Jon…”

“Look at the pommel. He said it was once a bear but look at it now.”

She frowned, knowing Jon was leaving something out. He would tell her in time though. He always did.

She gazed at the pommel as he directed. It looked like Ghost’s head. “I like the wolf bit,” she told him and he grinned before putting the sword away. He sat back down and urged her to come and sit in his lap. “I’m getting too heavy for this.”

“Not to me, you’re not.” He nipped at her ear and Sansa felt the familiar pooling of heat in her loins when one hand squeezed a breast as the other tightened around her waist. “Boy or girl?” he asked, nuzzling into her neck. It was his favorite guessing game.

“Girl,” she answered this time as his hands continued roaming her curves.

“A girl. She’ll be a beauty like her mother.”

“Even more beautiful.”

“Not possible” he argued with a kiss. “Ghost will let her ride upon his back.” Sansa giggled at the thought. “He’ll even permit her to weave him a crown of flowers to wear.”

“She’ll sing him songs.”

“Aye, just like her mother.”

She smiled and leaned her head against his, allowing her hand to trail through his dark curls. “Boy or girl, we’ll know soon enough.”

“And I’ve missed you, wife,” he replied with that deep rasp that made her smallclothes grow damp. His next kiss was hot and filled with desire. “Sansa…”

“I’ve many duties to attend to before Mother and Arya arrive.”

“My wife works too hard.”

“My husband is away so often. I must work hard to prepare our keep for winter.”

“Still…I believe you could stand to rest.”

“Perhaps. I don’t sleep as well with you gone and the babe kicking me at night.” She rose from his lap and he eagerly followed her to their bed. “I think you could use a rest as well,” she added as she began unbuttoning her gown.

“As you wish, my sweet lady,” he grinned already unfastening his leathers.

Their cries of ecstasy that echoed around the chambers soon after would be replaced by the hearty cries of their newborn daughter a fortnight later.

And when Jon sat beside her, marveling over their beautiful little girl and kissing her tenderly, Sansa knew that no other man could ever make her as happy as her wildling lover she’d met on a summer’s day when she was but four and ten.

“I hope she’ll find as good a man to marry someday,” she said wistfully as she suckled the babe that night.

“She’s just been born,” Jon grumbled.

“I know that. I just meant someday.”

“Alright then, someday perhaps Lyarra Snow will marry a worthy prince.”

“Or perhaps a handsome youth will capture her heart and sneak into our castle by night to steal her.”

“Some thief stealing my daughter like Bael the Bard?” She nodded, laughing at his incredulous expression. “Oh, no, wife. Ghost and I won’t hear of it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of Part 3. Obviously, I've planted some seeds in case I decide to tackle a Part 4 of this series someday but for now I'm happy to leave them happily at home as new parents despite the coming storm.
> 
> Thank you so much for all who have kudo'd, subscribed, bookmarked and especially those of you who have left lovely, supportive comments :)


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